


Journey's End

by StarkestUniverses (OmniscientPhoenix)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Academy - Freeform, Avengers Endgame: Fix-it, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parent Tony Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18822418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmniscientPhoenix/pseuds/StarkestUniverses
Summary: "Only one, Stark."In the final battle against Thanos, Tony knows the moment Strange lifts a single shaking finger that he is meant to die.  He will die on this battlefield and there will be no happy ending for him.Except, he reaches out for Infinity, misses and instead it is one Ms. Pepper Potts-Stark who must make one last sacrifice for the Stark family.Rescue snaps her fingers and saves the past, present and future of their universe.Tony lives in the aftermath of losing the one thing he could never live without--all while raising a daughter, educating the next generation of heroes and healing a world forever changed by the Decimation.





	1. Chapter 1

Strange holds out a single shaking finger and Tony knows.  

Tony has known since that moment on Titan, when green eyes met his and apologized with a broken, “ _There was no other way_.”

He will die on this battlefield and he watches as Thanos flings aside his friends, his _family_ as if they aren’t the Universe'sgreatest defenders.  

He drives himself into the battle, pushes down the ice cold rise of panic that pounds staccato in his veins.  Ignores that voice screaming _man in a can, just a man_ as he struggles against the greatest evil the universe has ever known.  

Thanos' lips twist in a sinister purple smirk as he crushes Tony’s helmet and reaches forward to pull the Infinity Gauntlet from his grasp.  Panic rises up, blinding, choking, and Tony’s heart sinks as he sees the single trembling finger in the corner of his vision, as Strange mouths, _“Only one, Stark.”_

He wanted his happy ending.  He wants his cabin by the lake and Pep and Morgan, but if Thanos wins here--no-one gets a happy ending.  No-one gets one today, or ever again, or ever will have in the past because the very fabric of the universe- _past, present, future_ \- will unravel at the whim of this maniac and Tony will gladly give the last of his numbered days for the limitless possibilities of everyone else’s.

He will burn the last embers of his future to keep the infinite fires of his universe burning.  

So he thinks of reaching out to grasp his daughter’s hand, his wife’s and reaches out to absorb Infinity so he might, just this once, save every last one of them.  

He expects blinding agony.  The power of Infinity tearing him apart atom by atom.

Instead, horrible nausea wracks him to his core as his fingers wrap around air, as Thanos' impossible strength swings him in a high arc away from the Stones as thick, purple fingers begin to fumble the Gauntlet into position.  

_No, no, no, no…_ Tony thinks.  Morgan, Pepper, Rhodey, Peter… He’s just gotten all of them back, he’s just saved them all and now there would be no one to save.  Nothing left all. Just whatever twisted reflection of Thanos’ psyche he decides to form from the shattered atoms of their universe.  

He hears the sound of metal sliding into place on skin, sickening where it should be absolute in its comfort to a man in an iron shell.  He wants to shut his eyes, brace himself for the end.  Instead, he swings up his gauntlets blasting every ion of power his repulsors can muster at Thanos.  A desperate struggle to bring a _single_ nanite of his armor into contact with the Infinity Gauntlet.

Futility chokes his lungs as Thanos simply smirks, flexes the Gauntlet as it shimmers with impossible power and they have not lost, not yet, but loss begins to rise regardless in Tony’s gut.

This is the end of them all.  The end of all things, he thinks.    

Instead, a flash of brilliant violet streaks through the air and Tony shoots out of Thanos’ grip with incredible force.  He slams into a pile of debris and feels futile rage as rubble crumbles onto his legs, his arms pinning him in place.  He struggles as the cracked concrete and stone cascade around him, rooting him in place.  

His eyes flash to the purple, recognition flooding him and for a single instant it’s pure vicious _joy_ that tears through him.  

It’s Rescue, brilliant and fierce and also known Pepper Potts-Stark.  Amongst a field of gods and warriors, aliens and thieves, assassins and heroes she grips the Infinity Gauntlet in both fists, facing down Thanos with steely determination and not an ounce of fear.  

Joy crumbles to terror in an instant as a mighty swing from Thanos sends Pepper fifteen feet, hitting an opposite pile of rubble with a terrible crunch and Tony has never prayed, does not pray.  But in that moment he prays there will be a place for them, Pepper and Morgan and Tony, after all of this.

He wonders for a single bleak moment if there’s an afterlife when the universe has been shredded down to its quarks.  

Thanos smiles at Pepper, horrible white teeth set in a perfect facsimile of kindness. “Who are you human, that you believed you could challenge the mighty Titan Thanos?  I am inevitable.”

The Gauntlet raises and Tony has one simple sickening thought of, _not again_.

The snap resounds across the battlefield, deafening in the pound of Tony’s ears even amongst the distant din of dying Chitauri.

Tony breathes his last breath.  And exhales so he can breathe his next.  

He’s always been brilliant.  Two, three, ten steps ahead. So he knows.  His grief swallows him up even as he lifts his eyes to his beautiful, kind, brilliant wife ensconced in purple and gold.  

He knows if he turned Thanos would be staring at an empty Infinity Gauntlet, no stones in their settings.  Instead, he watches as Pepper reaches up to remove the Rescue helmet, the only modular piece on a fully nano-tech set of armor.  

And for a small moment, she is only his.  She meets his eyes and they beg him for forgiveness with a thousand different pleas: _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ and _Take care of her_.  For a single moment, she is his and he hers and he knows he would give every last breath in his body to keep her forever.  Instead, she turns away; he gives a broken exhale and surrenders her to the universe.

She raises her right fist, gleaming purple, shimmering in Infinite colors, “I am Pepper Potts-Stark.  I am Rescue. And I will protect this universe at any cost.”

The snap resounds across the battlefield and unlike the first silence falls immediately.

Thanos sinks to the ground.  

The wind blows and ash burns along its billows.

_It should have been me._

This will be his prayer.  His mantra.

He does not know that yet.

Swirling yellow light curls around the rubble to shift it away from him and he’s on his feet in a single instant, not even looking to Strange to thank him for the assist because he _knows_ , but he- he-

He finds her.  

Her eyes are glazed over in pain, her Gauntleted arm curled into her armored side and Tony feels sickening horror curl nauseous fingers in his gut.  Charred, black burns texture her right side and he slides across mud slick with copper hot liquid as he sinks to his knees.  

“Hang on, Pep.  It’ll be alright.  It’s gonna be okay.  Look at what you did.  You saved the universe.”  It’s frantic, he’s frantic as he reaches out to gently pull off the weapon that has stolen every life he has ever cared about.  “Friday?”

“Life signs fading fast, boss.”

Pepper does not respond.  Simply takes shallow breaths.  In. Out. As if she’s reduced to the simplest functions now.  One heartbeat and the next. One breath and the next. Pain, pain, pain, skipping and stuttering and erasing every thought that passes over her neurons.

“Strange!  Banner! Someone help her! Please.” He screams it, growls it and Strange and Bruce fill the corners of his vision as the sorcerer crouches beside him.

“Come one, Pep.  Please.” He retracts both their left gauntlets, pulls them back over his skin so he can wrap his hand around hers, so he can press his wedding band to the matching one glinting in the dying light on her fingers.  “Fucking do something, Strange! Are you a doctor or the Sorcerer Supreme or what?” He whips his head around for the barest second to glare at the sorcerer and his heart freezes at the dark sorrow spilling across the Strange's face.

“I am sorry, Tony.  It was not supposed to happen this way.”  

Tony chokes on the air, ragged as his lungs choke unwillingly on the oxygen.  “ _No_.”  

Silence falls deafening over the ruined battlefield, but he feels the heat, the heartbeats of his team, his fellow Avengers at his back.  Collective grief and pity crashing like an ocean over him.

He knows what he has to do.  He reaches out for the gauntlet, to pull it onto his fist, to just _save her_ if no one else will.  His hand closes around the Gauntlet, power vaguely surging under his grip just as pale trembling fingers weakly grasp his own.  

His breath catches in his throat and he lifts his gaze to meet hers once more.

“ _Tony.”_ She breathes it, like it’s not even a word to her, hardly language anymore.  Just another breath. _“Tony.”_ She lifts her gaze, twitches those green eyes up still filled with unfathomable pain and gives the barest shake of her head.  

His blood freezes in his veins.

Agony wracks her every nerve.  Her eyes going blank. As if emptiness is overwriting everything she ever was.  

What happens if he can’t save her?

The thought pools cool dread in his stomach.  If he dons the Gauntlet to save her, knowing he will die and it does nothing to heal her then Morgan will be alone.  No parents, an orphan at five and--Pepper would give anything for that never to happen.

He would give everything to trade her places.  

_It should have been me._

Pepper made the ultimate sacrifice.  He can make this one last sacrifice for her.

He releases his grip on the Gauntlet and turns his palm to cradle hers in his own.

“Friday, retract Rescue armor.  Override-Alpha-One-Nine-Six-One-Six.”  Purple and gold slides away to reveal black fabric mottled with burns and scarlet blood.   

“Hey, Ms. Potts?”  He says it soft- soft as he can, as if it’s just the two of them.  The way he used to when it was just the two of them snuggled in bed in the cabin, his hand pressed to her belly as he counted out the tempo to Morgan’s first tentative kicks.  

Her gaze finds his again, the slightest flicker of cognizance and the corner of her lip twitches ever so slightly as she lets out another exhale.

He owes her so much more.  But this is what he has to give her.   

“We’ll be fine,” it falls from his lips shaken, wet with tears.  “It will take… well it will take a damn long time, but we’ll be okay.  I love you and you just know, I’m coming for you Pep. You got that?”

Another exhale.  Another twitch of hers lips and Tony reaches forward to press a hand to the unblemished side of her face.  Gently, ever so gently he presses the barest of kisses to her lips and cherishes the exhale that falls on his own.

He barely pulls away, sharing her air as she strains to meet his gaze and he wants to tell her not to waste the effort but he’s heart-shatteringly grateful and he can’t, _won’t_ ask her to look away.

“You can rest, now.  That will be all, Ms. Potts.”  He whispers it, chokes it through his tears.

And for a single moment, Pepper is there and she grips his hand in her own.

One last exhale.   

“That will be all, Mr. Stark.”

 

* * *

 

 

Numb.

He twists a hand tightly over his left wrist in habit as he listens to the quiet hum of the Quinjet and he doesn’t turn his head to make eye contact with any of his teammates.

Some naive part of him that wants to believe it’s almost like old times.  

But if it were old times, Romanov would walk up and put a hand on his shoulder and comfort him with a look and--

A sharp, fresh stab of grief overtakes him and he does not know if he will ever finish grieving Natasha.

He cannot consider the fresh, numb heaviness weighing his every nerve because he’ll scream if he does.  His mind shrieks with it; _it should have been me_.

Silence hangs heavy in the Quinjet and Tony knows that it’s not that his friends, his family don’t want to comfort him.  

But he’s been silent since he carried her off the battlefield, cradled in his arms as he made his way to the edge of the rubble and onto the clear edge of grass where he could lay her down somewhere soft.

Bruce had been the first to speak, laid a heavy warm hand on his shoulder.  

“We should get you home.  I’ll call a Quinjet.”

He hadn’t wanted to move.  Five years ago, he thinks, he wouldn’t have.  He would have rooted himself to the spot and allowed himself to atrophy, to rot.

Instead, he stares down at the still face of his wife, perfect, even burnt and damaged and _gone_.  

He doesn’t know how long it is until someone else comes up behind him, but he doesn’t register the noise at first, cataloguing every strawberry blonde hair, every freckle as he listens to the sound of birds fill the air once more.

He hears a soft, awkward cough and the scuffing of metal on leaves.  

“Hey, Mr. Stark.  Bruce told me to come let you know the Quinjet is ready to take you both home.”  

He feels rather than sees the kid freeze up at the words.  Pepper’s not coming home, not in the way he wants, and they all know it.  

He can feel the way he hunches in on himself, apologetic and awkward.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

He knows the kid's suffered more than he ever should.  More than anyone should ever suffer, let alone a kid, but he doesn’t have it in him to comfort.  That will come later.

Instead, he gives a jerky nod, crouching to gather Pepper in his arms once more.

That awkward noise rises up in the kid’s throat, grief-stricken and uncomfortable-, “I can- do you need-?”

“ _No_.”  The words come out a harsh rasp, like iron scraping over steel.  Before Morgan, he would have left it at that. Icy and silent and harsh.  Just like Howard.

Instead, he cradles Pepper tight to his chest, but turns and lifts his eyes to Peter’s.  “Thanks, kid. But, I’ve gotta do this for her.”

Peter’s gaze drifts down to the still form of Pepper in his arms for a moment and when he meets Tony’s eyes unshed tears glaze his vision.  

“I’m sorry.”

Silence hangs heavy between them and if the twisted curl of his lips is the closest Tony can come to the comforting smile he intended, than so be it.

“Not your fault, kid.”

_But it is mine_ , he thinks.  

 

* * *

 

They touch down in a clearing not far from the cabin.

And it strikes Tony for the first time.  

Or perhaps it would be more apt to call it the last.  

This will be the last time he brings Pepper home.   

The voice in his head that has always railed against impossibility challenges the thought.  Insists he should exhaust every corner of the universe searching for any way to bring her back even for a single moment.

But he thinks of warm brown eyes and wild brown hair and he knows that he owes it to Pepper to let her go and live for their daughter.  

His daughter who will grow up without a mother because Tony _failed_ her, failed them all.  And it was Pepper, always Pepper, who had to correct his mistakes.

And if it makes him a child to silently cry out to the universe that it isn’t fucking _fair_ , then so be it.  He will be a child in the sanctuary of his own mind, because every semblance of control he possesses is crumbling to ash in his veins.  

He wishes Thanos were alive so he burn him.  Shred him down to his atoms again.

But the mighty Titan is no more than dust amongst the blood and mud of the battlefield and there is a living, breathing girl who deserves the truth.  

Tony has always supported telling Morgan full, absolute truths, even if he softens them with gentle words.  There had been a lot of that for a child born into a world grieving half its population. For the first time, he wishes he could let lies fall from his lips simply to spare her the agony awaiting her.  

He remembers an ashen faced police officer at the door of the Mansion, the mottled, bloody face of Maria on a cold steel slab and he wants to scream with it.  

His daughter will share in that secret pain of his.  The pain of a child bereft of a mother all too soon.

His thoughts drown out the sounds around him and he flinches when a solid, warm hand curls around his shoulder.

“Tony?”  

Steve’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts and where once he had nightmares about that voice, threaded through with Siberian cold and the cold cut of Vibranium in his sternum, there’s worry clouding the Captain's tones now, thick with dark undertows of grief.  

Tony does not, cannot answer. 

“Tony?  You’re home, but we-,” Steve clears his throat, the awkward grumbling so much like Peter’s Tony would smile if his muscles weren’t locked into grief shocked stiffness.  “We need to know where we should take her.”

He wants to say nowhere.  He wants to say, it’s not necessary, wants to snatch up the Gauntlet and knit her cells back together, his wife’s last wish be damned.  

Instead, grief crashes over him and he feels himself choke as tears begin to roll silently down his face.  

“Oh god, Tony.”  

Warm solid arms wrap tightly around him, pulling him against star-spangled leather speckled in alien blood and ash.  

He wants to push him away, refuse the comfort.  Instead, he feels his arms pull Steve closer and something snaps as an inhuman wail claws its way out of his throat.

He’s aware in some distant far-off way that he’s sobbing, sobbing until he can’t breathe past the racking agony of it.  But, he simply can’t bring himself to care, let alone stop.

It feels like an eternity before something settles enough in him for his breath to ease.  

Finally, he pulls back and lifts his gaze to meet Steve’s.

His cowl hangs limp around his neck, his eyes red and wet, tearstained.  

“I’m so sorry, Tony.”  

He just gives another jerky nod and if Steve’s face crumples into mournful pity he can’t think about that now.  

Instead, Tony casts his gaze around the jet and notices the absence of people around him.  Tries to ignore the way his eyes drift toward a still form covered in a white sheet.    

“Where-,” his voice cracks on the word, rusty with disuse and sorrow and Steve simply shakes his head.  

“They thought you could use a moment.”  He gives a small smile, comforting and Tony remembers for a brief moment that Steve became a counsellor after the Decimation.  He didn’t see it before, but he understands now why those people sought out Captain America not to fight their battles but to teach them to fight their own.  

He appreciates the comfort, but he has one final mission to complete and he’s not certain he has the strength for it.

“I have to-,” Tony's voice cracks again and he’s distantly horrified as tears begin to stream down his face once more.  “I have to tell her.”

Steve’s face crumples in echoed misery and his hand slides down from Tony’s shoulder to snatch up his hand.  

“It’s okay if you can’t do it, Tony.  I can talk to her-.”

He’s shaking his head vehemently before Steve even finishes the sentence.  

“ _No_.”  He feels a stab of guilt at the rough anger in his tone and he pushes down the grief that’s already threatening to bubble up into rage.  “I’m sorry- I just. I owe her this, Steve. Ten years from now when she remembers this she needs to know her dad was brave enough to tell her he was the one who lost her mom.”  

Silence fills the air between them and Steve’s grip tightens around the numbness of his fingers.  

“It wasn’t your fault, Tony.”  

He laughs, a broken, awful noise ragged around the edges with grief.  Tony meets those gentle, blue eyes again and shakes his head, yanks his hand from Steve’s.

“Of course, the first time you say that it isn’t _true_.”  

Steve flinches slightly, stilling the motion enough no one else would notice--but it’s been eleven years since that fateful day on the Helicarrier and for all the shit that’s clouded their relationship, Tony can still read him like those days in the Tower when they weren’t just friends, but _family_.  

“I owe you a lot of apologies, Tony.  But if this is the one thing you ever listen to, please believe me.  It was not your fault.”

He reaches out and grips Tony’s hand so tight he can almost imagine the noise of his phalanges grinding together.  

Tony accepts the warm weight in his palm, but he allows bitter anger to seep into his tone.  

“I thought we’d learned to agree to disagree, Cap.”  

Tony expects anger, craves it if only to have something physical to carve his own rage into, but Steve only lets out a long sigh.  A tired noise, weighted with all those year apart.

“Maybe this is the one time out of a billion where you’re wrong, Shellhead.”  

Tony’s eyes twitch up to meet his once more and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in the blue there.  

“Knew I’d get you to admit I was right somehow.”  

Something in Steve’s eyes falls, shuttered and wracked with guilt.  “Thanos did that five years ago.”

They sit in the silence once more and Tony finally feels the grief ease enough to pull away from Steve once more.  

“I have to tell her.”  

Sadness fills the air between them and Steve gives a simple nod.  

“Do you want to say goodbye?”  

He wants to say _no_.  He was never supposed to say goodbye, not until they were old and wizened and spent their days on the porch surrounded by their grandkids.  

Instead, he nods and Steve reaches out to give him one last reassuring squeeze of his shoulder.  

“Take as much time as you need.”

He’s alone then as he listens to Steve walk away, out of the Quinjet.  

It could be moments or an eternity before Tony steels himself enough to rise from his seat.  

The space around him echoes with a thousand memories.  Clint and Nat sniping jokes from the pilot’s seat, Thor and Steve discussing tactics as Bruce shuts in on himself with opera streaming over his headphones.  

This memory will overwrite all those others he thinks.  

He makes his way to the back slowly, the aches and pains of a battle familiar even with a five-year hiatus.  He stills himself when he reaches the steel table, the white sheet.

He knows there are those who would not want this moment, to see their love burned out and cold on a steel slab.  But if he must live without her he knows he will regret every second that follows if he does not give her this now.

He pulls the sheet away and if it weren’t for the burns she could be sleeping.  

Tears well up unbidden and he watches as tears drip down his face, fall across her skin, sliding down the delicate grooves of cheekbones.  As if they are crying together, one last time.

He reaches out and finds her undamaged hand, soft even if it lacks her warmth.  Will always lack her warmth, forever gone from this world.

“I-,” he clears his throat around the sob that threatens to steal his words and even  if he couldn’t save her, he hopes she can hear him this one last time. “I’ve never been very good at apologies.  You know that, better than anyone.” He breathes softly, lets the tears fall. Lets a single twisted chuckle worm its way out of his throat.  “You know me better than anyone.”

He tightens his grip on her fingers, desperately wishing that she would twine them around his own and squeeze back.  “I would give anything to trade places with you, Pep. It- it should’ve been _me_ ,” sobs twist his words again and he wishes he could give her more, do _better_ , but he’s already failed her.  “You never should have been on that battlefield.  You should have been _home_ , safe from everything.  Safe from _me_.”  He breathes and breathes and breathes; wishes for a heartstopping moment that the next inhale will not come.  “I failed, Pep. But I won’t do it again.” He lifts her cold hand, presses trembling lips to eternally still fingers.  “I told you once you were the only thing worth living for.” He lets the smallest of smiles twist his mouth. “There’s a little girl who deserves better than that though.  Deserves more than I could ever give her. But, I will not fail her. Not again, not after I lost her mom. I promise, Pep.”

Tears flow silently silently and he wants nothing more than to share the air with her once more.  Instead, he gasps oxygen unsteadily into his unwilling lungs and wishes he could push every atom of breath he’s been allotted back into her lungs, her blood.  

Impossible temptations and the impossible has always been just out of his reach; if he pushes himself the tiniest bit further he can grasp it, bring it down to the world to share with humanity.  

He grasps a cold hand and knows without a doubt this impossibility will forever be out of his reach.  

“I’m sorry, Pep.  You deserved better.”  He bends his head, presses quivering lips to her brow.

He smoothes the hair away from her forehead, clears his own tears from her cheeks.  

“You go ahead and rest.  I’ll find you someday. That’s a promise, Ms. Potts.”  

He settles her hand, resets the sheet.

He turns and walks away from his own heart one last time, still and unbeating on a cold iron table.

 

* * *

 

 He stills, hand clenched around the doorknob and his heart lurches in his throat.  He can hear muffled voices through the door and normally a smile would find his lips as he imagined Pep and Morgan sprawled across the living room with whatever new toy had stolen his daughter’s attention this week.

Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh.  Turns the knob and carries himself into the cabin trying his best not to think of how he’d carried Pepper over the threshold that first time.  

“Daddy!”  

Morgan crashes into his legs a moment later, wrapping miniature arms tightly around his knees and he feels the terrible weight of what he’s about to do crushing him.  

He crumbles to the floor and sweeps her into his arms, crushing her to his chest as he buries his face in wild brown curls.  It’s the scent of Pepper’s shampoo that assails his senses and he can imagine Morgan insisting on the grown-up soap at bathtime last night with mommy and he feels total collapse threatening in his chest.  

“Daddy?  Where’s mommy?”  The question comes soft and muffled against his chest and he would give anything to lie in this moment, to spare his little girl this pain.  “What’s wrong, daddy?”

He breathes, pushes down the crash of grief that threatens to overtake him and pulls away a little bit, so he can meet wide hazel eyes.  

“I’ve got to talk to you baby.  Okay?”

Her pink bow mouth twists into a confused frown and affection sweeps through him; she’s a Stark alright, never content until she understands a situation in full.  

“Like grown-ups talk?”  Her face is puzzling and he musters the smallest of smiles, ruffles her hair as he scoops her up into his arms.

“Yeah, Morgoona, just like the grown-ups talk.”

He shifts to his feet, carrying her in his arms as his gaze falls over to Happy, ashen and red-eyed on the couch.  

“They told you.”  It’s not a question, he sees it in the lines of his friend’s shoulders, his face.  Happy gives a jerky nod.

“Steve came up to the house.  Talked to me on the porch. I- I didn’t want to tell her before you-.”  There’s apology in his tone and Tony cuts him off with a terse shake of his head.  

“No.  No, it’s okay Happy.  I’ll talk to her.”

Happy acquiesces at that, rises from the couch as minute tremors shake his body.  

“I’m so sorry, Tony.”  

They share their joint sorrow between them, the air heavy with their grief.  After all, Pepper was theirs long before she became the savior of a whole universe.  

“I can take it from here, Happy.  Feel free to take the guest room tonight.”  

Hap gives a tired quirk of his lips, shakes his head.  “I think I’ll take the kid home. May’s gotta be going crazy by now.”  

Tony feels a fresh stab of guilt; he’s barely spoken to the kid since he stepped through that portal.  He owes Peter everything he can give him after these five years, but that will have to wait.

“Tell May I’ll be by-,” he considers, realizes that these quiet moments will only last so long before he’s thrown into a flurry of activity.  There will have to be a funeral. He hasn’t even told his daughter and his mind’s already panicking about flower arrangements.

Happy seems to understand, places a comforting hand on his shoulder.  Happy leans forward, presses a kiss to Morgan’s forehead and she squirms in Tony’s arms as she wrinkles her nose.  He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “You be good for your dad, little miss. You take of him, okay?”

She lets out a disgruntled huff.  “I always do.”

Happy lets out a soft, stricken chuckle gives her hair a ruffle.  “Of course you do.” He gives Tony a parting attempt at a smile. “Anything at all, Tony.  You give me a call. Even if you just need someone to sit and not drink with you.”

Tony feels breathlessly grateful for a moment and he feels the threatening sting of tears again.  “Thanks, Hap. You always know just what to say.”

Happy scoffs at that before his face softens into something kind, understanding.  He’d worn that same expression the first time he found Tony hunched over, panicking in his lab after Afghanistan.  “It’ll be okay, Tony. Maybe not now. Maybe not for a long time. But you’ll be okay.”

There’s nothing he can say to that.  He simply lets the other man leave, listening to the sound of footsteps across the hardwood.  

After a moment, Morgan squirms uncomfortably in his arms, lets out a grumble.          

He takes up Happy’s spot on the couch, settles her in his lap and holds her tight.  Counts the tempo of her breaths, each one so very precious as he shares the air with what remains of Pepper Potts-Stark on this Earth.  

“Daddy, where’s mommy?”  

The question comes the second time and for the first time he wishes his daughter weren’t quite so astute.  The tearstained adults, the veiled language; she knows something is wrong even if she can’t put the thought into words.    

He breathes, meets her eyes clouding over with worry and pushes back the unruly curls.  

“That’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about, baby.”  

She squints at him, gives a slow nod.  “Okay.”

He steadies himself, takes a deep breath.  Braces himself for the horrible impact that’s about to shatter her life.  He wishes he could push down the tears for her, be strong; but, he thinks that maybe when she remembers this years down the line the tears will be a comfort.  A reminder that she does not grieve alone.

“The thing is baby-” his voice breaks and he forces out the truth that will make their loss absolute.  “Mommy's not coming home.”

Her face doesn't crumple like he expects, doesn't collapse into the agony he remembers from a stone faced cop describing a car accident that wasn't an accident.  She just blinks up at him, nods.

“Okay.”

He feels a strangled, hysterical laugh almost rise up, but he shoves down the noise before it escapes his throat.  

“When is she coming home?”  His heart drops into his stomach, a sensation like falling before the repulsors kick in.  

She doesn't understand.

He tries to breathe through the tears and she presses a tiny hand to his cheek.  “I know you get sad when she's gone, daddy. But she'll be home soon. Maybe she'll read you a bedtime story on the phone if you get scared.”  She says it with such utter confidence; the confidence of a child utterly secure in the ways of the world and her place in it. She gives a serious stare, drags curious fingers through the tears staining his cheeks.  “Don't be sad, daddy.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he pulls her tight to his chest, buries his face in her hair.  “I'm probably not going to do this right and I really hope you don't hold this against me someday, but- I need you to understand.”  

She shuffles in his lap, pushes away to meet his gaze.  “Daddy?” She gives him that piercing stare and perhaps he's wrong; something in her eyes echoes dread and he despises himself for being the first person to instill fucking _dread_ in her heart.

Just like Howard in all the worst ways.

“What's wrong, daddy? Where did mommy go?”

He stills.  He wishes he could answer that question.  Perhaps it would ease the nauseating grief eating at his stomach.  

“Do you- do you remember last year when Gran Gran got sick?”

She stills further and her face is beginning to take on the first expression of devastating understanding.  

“She went to heaven.  So she doesn't visit anymore.”  She says the words solemnly, seriously.  He remembers that discussion with Pepper, clutching his wife against his chest as she sobbed.  How they would explain death to a little girl who just lost her grandma.

“Yeah.  That's right sweetie she went to heaven.”. He feels the tears streaming heavier now as he tightens his grasp on the hand not pressed to his face.  

He desperately wants to push the words out, knows this will be the hardest moment.  

But she beats him to it, always too smart, too bright.  Just like him. Just like Pepper.

“Is mommy in heaven now too?”

The words come soft, as if she's trying to soften the blow for him and he feels his heart crack at the comfort in her voice.  

“Yeah, baby.  She's in heaven now.”  

Morgan’s face falls, goes distant and confused.  “But she wasn't sick.”

He wonders if that would be better somehow.  If she had expected this, known this was coming.  He thinks probably not. He's glad if his daughter has to lose so much, that she didn't have to witness it in slow motion.

“Sometimes people go to heaven for other reasons, baby.” He sighs, exhausted with the weight of grief.  

Confusion still lines her face and she's obstinate in the face of his explanation.  It's senseless to her.

He agrees; Pepper cold and still is the most senseless fact he's encountered in this Universe populated by talking raccoons and trees.  

“Why?”  She blinks up at him, eyes dry as if she can debate her way out of reality by poking holes in his logic.  He feels a contrary swell of relief; his little girl is going to go through a lot of pain but thank God for Pep’s influence because even at five his girl is _strong_.

“There was a- a fight.  And we were losing. We were going to lose and your mom saved us.  She saved the world, baby girl.”

And finally something clicks, understanding sliding into place on her face.  “Like a superhero. Like you.”

He gasps around the pain of that comparison.  As if he could ever be the hero Pepper is- _was_.

“Exactly like that.”  He lets a warped smile find its place on his lips.  “Your mom was a superhero. The very best of us.”

She's still and silent and then she squeezes his hand tight in her own.

“Mommy's not coming home.”

She voices a statement this time, not a question.

He breathes, slow and steady, with the last remaining fragment of his heart.  

“No, baby.  She's not.”

 

* * *

 

 

Seventy-two hours.  

He gives a sparing thought to how JARVIS would be lecturing him right now about getting some rest.  FRIDAY would never; he had never programmed that mother-hennings instinct into her. Though, he supposes he had never programmed that instinct into JARVIS either; JARVIS had simply taken on the personality of his namesake as time passed.  And well- Tony had never been able to stamp out one of the few voices that actually cared.  Even if it was one he created for himself.

There's no one to force him into bed now.  

Seventy-two sleepless hours filled with reluctant discussions about flower arrangements and guest lists and it's like some macabre imitation of the Potts-Stark wedding by the lake.

The suit hangs over the door, black three-piece over a black shirt.  

Two more hours and he will say goodbye one last time.  

He sits on the edge of the tub, one hand clenched tight around the cold marble.  Hair wet, freshly showered, the other hand clutching a razor in his palm.

He needs to shave, to put on some semblance of control if only for his little girl.  He knows he looks the wreck he is, but every time he lifts the razor to his face memory crashes over him and he cannot bear the swelling waves of grief.  

That day after Titan, when he had shoved his suit in Steve’s hands and whispered _liar_ , he’d woken in the Compound infirmary, Pepper sat silently at his bedside.  Eyes red-rimmed and worried as she reached a gentle hand out to stroke over his jaw.

“Let’s get you that shave, okay?”  

She’d shaved for him, laying there in his hospital bed as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.  And when she had finished she pressed a trembling kiss to his lips. “It’s gonna be okay, Tony.”  

She held him as he sobbed, as their collective grief swamped them in a world gone to ash.  

Now, every time he lifts the razor to his face he remembers her hands.  And then he remembers he will never again feel them pressed against his skin.  

The door creaks open some interminable passage of time later and the familiar quiet whir of servos fills the air.      

Rhodey finds him clutching the razor in his hand, blade pressed unknowingly into his palm.  

A quiet, pained exhale escapes his friend and then dark fingers are gently prying the blade from his iron grip.  The shuffle of feet, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. The smell of ethanol fills the air for moment and then Rhodey’s pressing a gauze pad to his palm, alcohol stinging the broken flesh as Tony hisses through his teeth.  

Steady fingers wrap a bandage around his hand and for a moment he’s blindingly grateful for the knowing care in those hands as Rhodey patches him up for perhaps the thousandth time in their all too painful lives.    

The tears come when he tilts Tony's chin up and set to marking out the edges of his goatee in shaving cream.  

They sit in silence as Rhodey drags the razor through stubble, shaves him clean and it reminds Tony painfully of smaller, softer hands on his jaw.  

When Rhodey finishes, he pulls Tony into a crushing hug.  Tony can feel Rhodey’s hot tears echoing his own as they drip down his neck.    “It's gonna be okay, Tones.” He stays silent, ignores the pity in Rhodey’s eyes.  “I'll find you before, okay?”

Rhodey doesn't need a response, just rises and leaves the bathroom, the whirring of his braces accompanying him all the way.

It feels like an eternity before he can move.

He buttons the shirt, the vest.  Ties the black silk tie. Meets his own dark eyes blown wide with grief in the mirror.  

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do this without you, Pep.”  

There’s no response and he steadies himself as he steps out of the bathroom, past the bed he’d once shared and into a silent hallway.  

He makes his way through the halls, pauses and cracks Morgan’s door softly to keep from waking her.

Only she's already awake, curled on her side as she watches the sun rise over the lake out her window.  

When he cracks the door, she ignores the noise as she continues to stare blankly at the refracted light scattering over the oak floors.  

“Hey, Morgoona.  What are you doing up, huh?”

He crosses the room, settles himself at the foot of her bed as she shifts into a sitting position, arms hugging her knees towards her chest.  

She peeks up at him from behind her knees.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

He feels his face crumple into worry and he reaches out to smooth the tousled curls off her brow.  

“Have you been up all night, sweetheart?  Why didn’t you come get me?”

She shakes her head, looks at him with exhaustion hazed eyes.  “Not all night. I had a bad dream.” She confesses it softly and he sighs.  

“You could’ve come and got me baby.  You know that.” She nods again and he hates that all its taken is seventy-two hours to make his vibrant little girl so very quiet.  “Why didn’t you come get me, huh?”

She doesn’t meet his gaze.  “I went to go get you and I heard you crying.  I didn’t want to make you sadder.” His heart freezes in his chest and he reaches out, pulls her into his arms.  

She lets out a sniffle and he feels warm tears stain his shirt.  He reaches out, gently nudges her chin until she meets his gaze, eyes bloodshot and wet.  “Hey, Morgoona, do you wanna know a secret?” She considers the question and gives him a serious face.

“Yeah.”

He smiles down at her, a soft sad curve of his lips.  “You could never, ever make me sad. Not in a million-billion years.”  

She considers it momentarily, as if she doubts him.  “A million-billion?”

“Yup, a million-billion.”  He shifts her closer, her warm weight the only comfort these last three days.  “But do you wanna know the most important secret?”

Another solemn nod, hazel eyes wide.

“You can always tell me when you're sad and I will always be here, okay?  Don't you ever worry about me, you let me know if you're sad or happy or even just don't know how you feel about something just yet.  Got it?”

There's a small tilt of her head. “If you say so, daddy.”

He gives her the barest smile.  

“Good girl.  Let's get dressed okay?”

He pulls black socks up tiny feet, smoothes out the wrinkles of a tiny black velvet dress.  Ties a black ribbon in brown curls with shaking fingers.

He smoothes Morgan's hair down, gives her a teary smile.  “Perfect. Like always.”

She doesn't respond, just reaches out and takes his hand in her own.  

He scoops her up in his arms, ignoring his back’s protestations as he holds her tight.  He catches a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror and he tries to ignore the ash of his complexion, the bloodshot of his eyes.

The thought occurs to him as he holds her in his arms, his black suit pressed against her black dress.  “You wanna tell me about your bad dream?”

She stiffens, shakes her head furiously and he sighs.  “You can tell me anything, Morgoona, you know that.”

She stays silent for a moment.  “Is mommy scared of the dark?”

He freezes, let's himself breathe before he answers.  “No, baby girl. I don't think your mom was scared of anything.  Why would you ask that?”

There's a silent moment.  “In my dream it was dark. And I kept looking for mommy cause I could hear her and she sounded scared.” She pauses.  “It was real dark where they put Gran Gran. What if mommy's scared of the dark and we leave her there all alone?”

He wishes he could dismiss her fear.  But he has those dreams too, about abandoning his heart alone and in the dark.  He does not want to desert Pepper to the shadows either.

“You don't want her to be alone in the dark, huh?”

She nods, solemn and serious.  Then her face clears and she pushes out of Tony's arms and scrambles down his legs over to the bedside table.  She returns prize in her hand and presses it into his palm.

“She can have my nightlight, daddy.  That way she won't be scared.”

Tony feels his heart lurch in his chest as he stares down at the dim blue light in his hand.  

_Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart._

He remembers giving this to Morgan, those first rough months transitioning her out of his and Pep’s bed and into her “grown-up” bedroom.  How she'd shamefacedly crept into their bed night after night because she couldn't bear to be alone.

He'd found the old reactor in the workshop, still glowing that soft blue and he'd brought it with him that night at bedtime.  

Pressed it into Morgan's hands as she blinked up at him.  “This is for you, Morgoona.”

She had wrinkled her nose, turned it over in her fingers.  “What is it?”.

He remembers laughing, pulling her into his arms.  “It's a nightlight. So you never have to be scared, even when mommy and I aren't there.”

She had pressed a curious finger around the etching.  “What does it say?”

Always curious. Always learning and Tony had felt that impossible, breathless pride rise up in his chest before he read the words out loud for her.  “Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart.”

She frowned at him, gave him a dark expression.  “That's silly.”

He had laughed, reached out to flick her nose as she grumbled at him.  “Why is that, pumpkin?”

She had just scoffed, as if he was asking a stupid question and God does he love his little girl.  “Of course, you have a heart. You have the biggest heart in the whole wide world.”

Now he holds the reactor in his hand, his throat closed tight as Morgan looks up at him, triumphant in her solution.  His heart feels swollen, aching in his chest as tears sting at his eyes.

“Are you sure baby girl?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, then gives a serious nod.  “I don’t want mommy to be scared. And maybe with my special nightlight she won’t feel so alone.”  

He sinks to his knees wraps her up in his arms as he buries his face in her curls.  

“We’ll be okay, daddy.”  Her voice is clear in his ear, comforting even through the tint of her sorrow.

He pulls back, gives her the best smile he can muster.  “We will, won’t we?”

 

* * *

 

A sea of faces greets him as he steps out the doors onto the porch.  He feels grateful for his dark sunglasses hiding his red rimmed eyes as he steps into the sun, Morgan’s hand in his and the wreath clutched tight in his other fist.  

Rhodey and Happy stand at his back, a calm wall of support as he feels himself falter, pause.  He sees them all gathered here, his teammates, his family, even the aliens; faces somber as they take in his grief stricken form.  

This is the final goodbye.  

He remembers this moment in reverse, in contrast when he had carried Pep over the threshold wearing her white lace dress.  

Now he carries her memory with him, white calla lilies, violet hydrangeas, gold poppies.  Their petals shimmering faint blue as the proof of his heart refracts light across the memory of Pepper.  

The sun shines and he hears birdsong amongst the trees.  He had almost forgotten what that sounded like, in the quiet of the Decimation.  

The birds sing for Virginia Potts as if they know she is the reason they still have a song.  

Minute fingers squeeze his own and he looks down at Morgan as she blinks up at him in the bright sunlight.  

He steels himself, brings himself to give her a watery smile and starts their slow procession once more.  

Silence reigns, only the soft white noise of breeze on the water and birdsong in the leaves.  

It feels an eternity that he crosses the grass until he reaches the smooth wood of the dock.  

He remembers his parents funeral, in the cold New Year slush; he’s glad the sun shines down on Pepper one last time.  

Finally, he reaches the edge that leads to the water and he feels his heart sink as he feels the reality of the situation beating at his mental barriers.  He will place his heart in the water, surrounded by flowers that speak a secret language and then he will have nothing left of her.

Except, he feels a warm palm twined in his own and he knows that he has the best and brightest parts of her right by his side.  

Finally, he feels himself sink to his knees, holding the wreath in his hands as tears once more begin to track silently down his cheeks.  He trembles with the force of holding back the wretched noise that wants to escape his throat and he stares down at the flowers as they shake with his tremors.

A small, pale hand reaches up grasp the edge of the wreath and even before he meets Morgan’s gaze he knows she is steadying him.  Just as she always has.

“We’ll be okay.”  He whispers it, echoes the words as if he repeats it it will be true.  

Then he wraps a protective arm around Morgan’s waist, holds her tight and they settle the wreath into the water together.  

Blue light refracts off the gentle swelling waves as they carry mourning petals away.  

_Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart_

He pulls Morgan to his chest and gasps through the tears.  

“We’ll be okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story now has an official playlist on Spotify  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/heq42ccri8qdfwggdsbehosxa/playlist/5uWKQYTFa0kknHxI8AQWhc?si=Ew1IPwVfThSn6MM_7_30Ww

Steve has always seen his life reflected through a prism of loss. 

The loss of his father, his mother.  The loss of his health as asthma stole his air and curled choking fingers around his bronchioles.  The loss of his entire world between one waking moment and the next, a chasm spanning seventy years and a veritable ocean of grief.  

Steve has lost and he has borne witness to others’ loss.  Delivered condolence letters to sobbing next of kin; held soldiers in those last terrifying moments when the shrapnel cut too deep, too fast.  

Now he bears witness to the void loss tears in its wake.   

Birdsong breezes over the tree leaves.  Murmuring voices echo across the lapping waves of the lake.  Spring sun beats insistent, pressing at the black suit on his shoulders.

The sun shines down as it did the day he buried his mother.  Sarah Rogers, the nurse who fought to save the hopeless victims of TB until she succumbed to the disease herself.  A hero in her own right, far before Captain America graced the pages of a comic book or the bloodstained mud of the battlefield.

His mom would have liked Pepper, he thinks.  A strong, independent, working mother, just like her.  Absentmindedly, he thinks maybe they already do like each other, in whatever afterlife this off-kiltered Universe must have somewhere.  After all, Steve has witnessed his family crumble to ash in the breeze; whatever doubts have cracked his faith in the last five years have not touched his certainty that there must be something _after_.  Otherwise, he would barely be able to breathe through the weight of all that loss.

The creak of the door reaches his ears before the rest of the crowd, enhanced hearing picking up aging wood shifting under reluctant feet.  The murmured voices fall silent in an instant.  

He turns his head and his eyes instantly find Tony, all black suit, dark sunglasses.  A white bandage stands stark against the colors of the wreath gripped in his palm.  

Steve examines his life through the prism of loss and it shows him Tony’s face over and over again.  Shows him pushing Tony away on the Helicarrier that first day; shows him driving his shield down into the arc reactor as Tony stares helplessly up at him, silently begging him to _finish it_.  He loses Tony over and over again just as they start to mend the chasm of misunderstanding between them.  

But now isn't the time for that long worn guilt.  On this day, they stand witness to the memory of Pepper Potts-Stark.  Steve watches Tony stagger, freeze under the weight of his grief and he wonders if perhaps they have lost Tony as well.  Wonders if Tony carries his own memory in the petaled weight in his hands.  

Steve knows loss, intimate and aching.  He recognizes the awful lines grief has carved into Tony’s skin.  A loss torn deep and wide and complete, in a single moment. Grief creeping like long forgotten shrapnel towards Iron Man’s  heart, threatening to silence it’s beat.    

Steve wants to step forward, take Tony’s hand in his own.  But he does not have that right; he has not had the right to simply be Tony’s friend for seven years now.  Instead, it is Morgan who tightens her fingers in Tony’s grip, who steadies him as he regains his footing again.  

He sees the moment Tony finds his strength, that stubborn courage of his that Steve has cursed and blessed in equal measure.  He watches, silent witness to a loss not his own.  

It seems an eternity before Morgan and Tony make it to the edge of the water.  Finally, Tony kneels on the dock and, even at this distance, Steve can make out tremors shaking purple, white, gold blossoms in the breeze.  

A single, small hand reaches out, grips the edge of the wreath.  

Tony meets his daughter’s gaze over the edge of his sunglasses, the barest of smiles curling around his lips.  His arm goes around his daughter’s waist and Steve hears the whisper carried on the breeze.  

“We’ll be okay.”  

The pair leans over the water, light reflecting brilliantly off the waves as they surrender Pepper’s memory to swelling tides.  

“We’ll be okay.”  

It falls from Tony’s lips as a prayer.  

Five years ago Steve would have murmured his prayers in tandem, lent his support through little more murmured faith.  Instead, Steve takes in the tired lines of a man bereft his heart and feels the fissures in his faith reach out and spindle, collapsing that naive hope in on itself.  

No prayer has ever saved him.  No prayer has ever saved the innocents or stilled the hand of death herself.  

The waves carry away the memory of the bravest woman the Universe will ever know as her family watches.  Prayers and condolences turn to ash on Steve’s tongue.  

Steve carries loss wherever he goes.  

He watches Tony and Morgan breathe together, tears tracking tandem down their cheeks.

It is not his loss.  But he hopes he can help them bear it.  

He tosses prayers from his mind and instead whispers a promise to the woman who saved the very sunbeams they stand in.  

“They'll be okay.”

 

* * *

 

 The light dies all around them, sunset painting the forest floor prismatic watercolors.  

Steve stands on the makeshift Quantum Tunnel's platform, Stones safely encased in an armored case and gripped in one fist, Mjolnir in his other.  He feels the sparking thrill of lightning shimmering along his nerve endings as he watches light dance over the leaves.  

“How long will it take?”  

Steve feels his attention snap back to the Avengers gathered around him, Sam and Bruce and Bucky.  He hears the shrug in Bruce’s tone as he fiddles with delicate equipment, marks down readouts on the screen of their makeshift Quantum Tunnel before he answers Sam.  

“For him?  However long he needs.  For us? Ten seconds.”  

There’s a final click as Bruce finishes whatever calculations he needs and Steve hears the hum of equipment buzz to life around him.  

“Ready, Steve?”  Bruce meets his gaze, wide brown eyes expectant and kind, still so unfamiliar set in the Hulk’s face.  

Steve gives a terse nod, attempts a smile.  

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”  

Bruce returns the nod, eyes serious.  “Be careful. Return the Stones right back to the moment we took them.  You know the drill.”

Steve squares his shoulders, breathes deep as the Tunnel begins to crackle to life.

“Ten seconds.”  He repeats it to himself.  He’ll only be gone ten seconds.

Bruce shoots him a comforting smile, all square white teeth.  “I promise I won’t leave you in the past, buddy.”  

Steve summons up a weak smile, as the mirrors around him begin to spin, light reflecting wildly off the platform.  “You better not, Banner. I’ve got plans.” The world dissolves into component parts, quarks and protons blurring into bleeding colors.  

“Don’t be late, Cap,” trails after him as Bruce’s voice warps and fades to silence.  

Moments later, Steve emerges in the golden light of Asgard and grips Mjolnir tight.  

He can spare ten seconds.

He has more important matters to attend to than any mission.

 

* * *

 

Steve strides through the palace of Asgard silent, tense.  

He hears nothing but the air shifting as he moves, the silent hum of Mjolnir’s thunder coursing through his veins.  The Reality Stone and Mjolnir are his first stop here, to return them to their rightful place in 2013 on Asgard.  

Currently, he's making his way to Thor’s quarters based on a memorized map drawn by a slightly inebriated Thor as his only guide.    

The halls lie silent and Steve wonders absently where the bustle of people have gone, what stills the castle halls as midday light drifts across stone.  

“Loki?” 

Scratch that.  A map drawn by a _very_ inebriated Thor.   

Steve stiffens, freezes as the familiar voice sounds rough over his shoulder.  A hand lands heavy on his shoulder and whips him around to stand face to face with Thor of the past wearing a murderous expression.  

“Loki!  How have you escaped your cell?  Wearing brave Steven’s face as well!”  Past Thor’s face darkens further and Steve has only a split moment to bring up his arm to block the fist swinging towards his face.

Steve realizes his mistake when his hand gripping Mjolnir swings up in defense and Thor pulls away, staggers back as his eyes alight on the hammer.  

Shock stiffens every line of the demi-god’s body and embattled misery clouds Thor’s eyes as he releases his grip on Steve, pushes him away.  

“You are not, Loki.”  

Thor’s voice shakes and he stares at Mjolnir still safe in Steve’s grip.  

In this moment, Steve is fairly certain he just broke every last one of Scott and Tony’s time travel laws.  Warnings about stepping on butterflies echo distantly in his ears.  In fact, Tony would probably tell him to lie, pretend to be Loki, if only to “preserve the timeline.”  

If Steve changes the course of history, he’s going to step on a lot more than goddamn butterflies.  

“No.  No, I’m not Loki.”  

Thor relaxes in a single breath, but in the next distrust washes over him and he stiffens again.  “Who are you? Why do you wear the Captain’s face?” Thor’s tone challenges contest, invites battle.  Only Steve doesn't rise to the challenges; after all this time he knows how to choose his battles.  Instead, Steve meets his Thor’s eyes, relieved to find them young and free from ten years of constant grief. 

The truth, unfiltered, uncensored, unbidden, has always been Steve’s greatest strength.  Just as it has often been his greatest flaw.     

“Well it’s my face, isn’t it?”

Thor’s face twists in confusion, then turns thunderous again.  “Good Steven is a great friend and valued warrior. I caution you against using his visage to betray my trust.”  

Steve stills, takes a breath.  Thor needs proof and after eleven years Steve has plenty.  “You like Poptarts, but only the strawberry ones. Loki once pretended to be a snake so he could stab you.  Tony calls you Point Break.” Steve pauses for a breath, meets Thor’s eyes. “We’re friends, Thor. You know me.”    

Something settles in Thor, changes and his eyes turn sharp, calculating.  He reaches out with both hands, grips Steve by the shoulders as he examines his face.  His eyes fall at whatever he finds there and he lets out a shaky breath as he releases his grip.  

“You are not the Steven I know.”  

His voice brooks no question, no doubt and Steve finds himself answering before the consequences can register.  

“I am.  Just a little older.”

Thor’s gaze calculates, measures every line of Steve’s face.  “The decade has not been kind to you my friend.”  

The truth settles around them and Steve allows himself to nod in confirmation.  "That's one way of putting it."  

Thor accepts the lack of answer easily enough.  Only his eyes never stray far from the hammer in Steve's grip.  “How did you come into possession of my beloved Mjolnir, friend Steven?”  

That question is more treacherous.  “Borrowed it from a friend. Here to return it.”  Steve flips the weight in his hand, offers it handle first as Thor eyes it warily.  “Someone more worthy than me needs it, I think.”  

Thor meets his gaze and for the first time Steve notices evidence of tears staining his cheeks.  Memory slams into him like a freight train and he realizes that he arrived too late.  

Frigga lies dead somewhere in these halls and Steve altered this timeline, changed it forever.  Had he chosen a moment only an hour before he could have saved Thor’s mother. Saved his friend all that pain, at least in this timeline.  

Instead, grief glazes Thor’s eyes over and he eyes the hammer dubiously as Steve offers it.  

“You must be more worthy than I, shield brother.  Why else would she heed your call?”  

Steve sees those very first echoes of Thor’s doubt tracing along the lines of his stricken face.  A voice that would whisper _not worthy_ until he drowned it in tankards of mead bitter with his guilt.  

Steve reaches out, grips Thor’s wrist in order to wrap his friend’s fingers around Mjolnir.  

“You will always be worthy, Thor.”  

Steve pulls his own hand away, dropping Mjolnir as Thor tightens his grip.  

There’s a breathless moment.  The hammer remains gripped tight in Thor’s palm and Steve sees relief wash over him.  

When Thor meets his gaze again, aching grief still shadows his face.  “What are you doing here, Captain? You did not return to save my mother.  That is not your purpose here. So what terrible battle will pass that you risk meddling in times long past?”

Everything freezes up in Steve at that.  

But he’s already altered history.  And maybe this time they won’t lose.  

He reaches for the case, rests it on the window ledge and he presses a thumb to the lock.  

The case hisses with a hydraulic pop and Steve feels Thor come up behind him, still at the sight of six gleaming Infinity Stones shimmering in the midday light.

He reaches out for the red Stone, watches as a metal shell forms around the Reality Stone to contain its power as he takes it in his grip.  He closes the case and turns to face Thor once more.  

He offers the Stone and Thor does not speak, simply meets his eyes as grief colors his face.  

“We will not win this battle.”  Thor intones it, gravely, softly.  Never voicing a question, but instead a statement of fact.  Steve wonders absently how the Avengers ever underestimated a thousand year old god’s intelligence.     

Steve grips his friend’s hand, reaches out to press the Reality Stone into his palm.  

“You will win.  Whatever it takes.  I promise you.” Thor seems to tremble as he closes his fingers around the Stone.  The god lets out a soft chuckle, a despondent, joyless noise escaping his throat.  

“After today, I fear I have little else to lose, dear Steven.”  

Steve steps on butterflies, feels this new reality shift around him and he reaches out to pull Thor into his arms.  The Asgardian melts into his embrace, soaks up comfort as if he’s starved for it.  

When Thor’s trembling breaths ease, Steve pulls away, holds him at arm’s length.  

“You will lose, Thor,” he says it gently as he can.  Thor flinches, regardless, and Steve presses on.  “But you will win so much more. And there will come a time when you feel like you just can’t fight anymore,” Steve reaches out, places a comforting hand on the god’s shoulder.  “But you have to keep fighting, Thor. Even if it’s just for yourself.”  

Thor gives him a shaky nod, takes in an unsteady breath as he clasps Steve’s forearm in a warrior’s farewell.  “I take it you must return to your own time, brother Steven?”  

Steve wishes he could stay a while longer, comfort his friend grieving his mother.  Instead, he gives him a regretful smile, squeezes his wrist back in the familiar gesture.  

“Mission’s not over yet.”  Thor nods, gives him an understanding, if sad, twist of his lips.  

“Fare thee well, Captain.”

Steve takes a step back, bends to pick up the case carrying the Stones once more.  He lifts up his wrist, plugs the next coordinates into his quantum positioning system.  

He falters before he presses the button.  Butterflies be damned.

“Thor?”  

Thor’s gaze snaps up to meet his once more.  “Yes?”  

“I need you to remember two things, okay?”  

Gold curls shake as the god nods, eyes going vigilant.  

Two sentences and Steve can prevent entire galaxies turned to ash.  

“First off, Tony’s right.  There’s bigger and badder things coming for us, sooner than we think.  Listen to him.” Thor’s face twists confused, but he nods in response. “And this is the real important one, okay?”  

“Yes, shield brother?”  

Steve reaches out, hovers a hand over the button that will take him across time and space.  

“If you ever fight a purple bastard named Thanos?  You go for the fucking head.”  

Marble and gold dissolves into prisms of color and Steve says a prayer for the fate of a universe no longer his own.  

 

* * *

 

He opens his eyes one year in the past and billions of miles across the universe.  

His breath freezes in his lungs as he takes in crushed glass littering marble floors, wind whipping through the room in the wake of shattered windows.  The sun glints brilliantly off the powdered shards, casting broken fragments of rainbows across oak walls.  

Avengers Tower before it even bore their mark, before they themselves truly bore the title of Avengers.  Steve only allows another split moment of the nostalgia before he’s moving, feet sending glass skittering off against the stone.

Three Stones belong in this moment, must be returned to their proper place to prevent the destruction of this reality.

“Local time sync,” he murmurs and the comm in his ear chirps as it reads back _19:07 hours, Captain_.  

Good.  The other Avengers have left for shawarma down the street.  He does not particularly relish the idea of creating alternate realities with every minor misstep.  

He crosses the floor of the penthouse silently, each step purposeful and measured.  He reaches the elevator, holds up a hand to call the button.  

The door slides open with a _whoosh_ and Steve freezes when he comes face to face with green eyes and red hair.  

Pepper Potts freezes in the elevator, eyes wide as she shoots out a hand to prevent the doors closing when they stay frozen in the moment too long.  “Captain America.”  

Steve does not know how to prevent splintering realities in this moment.  He suspects he already has. So he clears his throat and meets her gaze. “Ms. Potts.”  

She blinks, perhaps surprised he knows her name, but she relaxes ]as she steps forward, elevator doors sliding shut behind her.  “Not to be rude but why is Captain America in my living room?”  

Grief swells up in Steve’s chest at the sound of her voice and he has a brief moment of insanity where he considers taking her hand, returning her with him to the future.  Only Tony would lose her all over again, even if not his Tony. And Tony- well, he’s not selfish, never has been. He would hate Steve for stealing his and another Pepper’s fifteen years.  For erasing Morgan from this timeline as if she was little more than a footnote.  

Steve pushes down the impossible urge, chokes down his grief.  

He does not know Pepper Potts.  Not here, not in this place. In fact, they were supposed to meet for the first time hours from now when the Avengers return from dinner.  

Butterflies be damned.  

He lifts up the briefcase, gives a sheepish approximation of a grin.  “Delivering this to SHIELD. Forgot it on the coffee table, I guess.”  

Her brow crinkles and she raises a single, dubious brow.  “You’re Captain America and you forgot classified intelligence on my coffee table?”  She peers over his shoulder, crosses her arms over her chest. Steve follows her gaze, winces when he notices the mangled remains of what was almost certainly said coffee table.  Pepper’s still eyeing him doubtfully, but she uncrosses her arms, lets out a sigh and presses past Steve to move towards the couch.  

She falls heavily against the cushions, leans forward and presses her face into minutely trembling hands.  Steve shifts unsteadily, rooted to his spot in front of the elevator. Pepper peeks an eye out at him from behind her hands, narrows said eye into a terrifyingly effective glare and aggressively pats the couch cushion beside her.  Steve freezes, casts a guilty eye at the elevator. “Oh come on, Captain. You saved the world. You can sit down for five minutes.” The glare comes out full force and Steve’s a smart man; he only gives a moment’s thought to the Stones in his hand and then steps over glass and debris to join her on the couch.  

Silence lays heavy, awkward between them.    

“So how bad did Tony freak out when he met you?”   Her voice comes soft, tired and Steve feels himself stiffen, guilt pooling in his gut as he remembers that day on the Helicarrier.  He could confess to the fight, those awful words he’d spat at Tony in his own moment of blindness. Instead, he takes the easy route, one Clint had termed the “forties card”  after his fourth time insisting he understood neither emojis nor texting.  

“Sorry, ma’am.  I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at.”  

Pepper’s face softens at that and she smiles.  “Sorry. Lots of new slang to catch up on, I’m sure.”  

The slang had been the least of Steve’s worries honestly; he’d blown up three of SHIELD’s microwaves before someone thought to explain the whole metal thing.  Instead, he nods and her gaze turns more tender than before.  

“What I meant to say is how excited was Tony?  He’s always been a Cap fanboy, you know?”  

Steve stills.  He did not know that, actually.  

“He uh- he held up pretty well, ma’am.”  Pepper’s nose wrinkles at the term and Steve hears an echoed memory of _Steve, it’s Pepper, how many times do I have to tell you_.  

“Call me Pepper, Captain.  Ma’am makes me feel like someone’s mom and the only kid I deal with is Tony.”  

“Only if you call me, Steve.”  

Her smile shines brilliant, kindness tracing her features as the first hints of smile lines crinkle around her eyes.  “It’s a deal, Steve. But only if you tell me how bad Tony panicked when he met his childhood hero.”

_You better stop pretending to be a hero._

Captain America was Tony’s hero and Steve had stripped him down to his studs with carefully calculated barbs within hours of meeting him.  Apparently, Steve owes Tony a debt that grows with each passing revelation.  An impossible red stain on his ledger, a debt he's uncertain he could ever repay.  Ten seconds, he reminds himself. Ten seconds and he can begin to mend all those bridges burning thirteen years in the making. 

Steve considers before he speaking again.  “I- I never got the impression he was a fan, ma'am- uh, Pepper,” he corrects himself before her eyes can narrow any further.  

She raises an eyebrow and snorts.  “So he got nervous and acted like a dick then?”

Steve jerks at that, a surprised huff of laughter escapes his throat.  “You could say that. But I think the scales of ‘dickishness’ are probably tilting my way right about now.”

Pepper throws her head back, a surprised laugh that echoes off the walls only to be whipped away by the wind drifting in through the shattered windows.  “Language, Captain! But it's alright, I won't hold a spat with Tony against you. Everyone knows he can be a bit of an ass sometimes.”

Steve chuckles, let’s a minute smile curl his lips.  “Maybe. I think maybe people just see the flash and the suit and never bother to look any further.”  He meets Pepper’s eyes, smiles a bit brighter. “People see what they want to when they look at Tony. They always see the mask, rarely the man.”

Pepper goes still, a little wide-eyed.  Then she lets out a tiny broken sound and she’s wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.  Steve pauses, uncertain, then reaches up to pull her closer.  

He counts out the tempo to each heartbeat and each staccato thump is a ghostly echo of a heart forever silent.  Her voice sounds wet, trembling when the next words come.  

“He could have died today.  Tony should have died today.”  

Steve stiffens, pulls her closer.  For the first time he considers what it must be like to be the civilian, the one who stands on the sidelines while your loved ones risk their lives.  He would much rather be the one making the sacrifice play on the battlefield.

“He didn’t though.  Tony’s okay, Pepper.  It’ll be okay.”  

 _We’ll be okay,_ echoes in his ears and if he grips her just the tiniest bit closer, he ignores it.  

She pulls back the smallest amount, meets his gaze with wet eyes and a wry, sardonic twist of her lips.  “This time. He lived this time. What about the next? Or the one after? I- I don’t want to lose him, Steve, but every time he puts on that suit I feel like I’m sending him off to his death.  Maybe not this time, but eventually. Eventually, I’ll be the one standing over his grave and I’ll be cursing myself because I always saw it coming.”  

Morgan and Tony surrendering her memory to the waves crops up in his mind.  The shell-shocked horror on Tony’s face when he’d first seen the burns, the blood soaking Pepper’s suit.  

He realizes in a single moment that Tony and Pepper had lived their entire lives waiting for Tony’s grave.  But never, not once, had they prepared for hers. 

He takes her hand and when he speaks again, he speaks a truth sickeningly awful in its double entendres. 

“I swear to you, Pepper.  You will never have to bury him.”  He infuses earnest truth into his voice and it is a lie only in awful technicality.    

Her face relaxes, a stray tear tracing down her cheeks.  “Sometimes I wish I could put on that damn suit myself. Watch his back if he refuses to do it himself.  Even if I’m no hero.”  

Violet and gold fingers snap, turning an army to ash in his mind’s eye and Steve rails against the thought that Rescue, that _Pepper_ is any less a hero than Iron Man ever was.  

“Hey now.  I think you’d make a great hero.  I bet Tony would make you a suit even, no stealing required.”  

Pepper’s laugh rings, clear and bright, as the sun begins to set casting watercolor sunset over the glass littering the marble.   

“Probably not.  One of us has to be a sane adult.”  

Steve understands in this moment what Pepper was to Tony beyond his greatest love--she steadied him, kept him centered.  He remembers the moment Morgan had placed a hand over Tony’s own as he froze up at the funeral, steadying his panic with a single touch.  He thinks that must be a defining trait of the Potts-Stark girls. That innate ability to center Tony with a look, a touch.     

Tony is a planet orbiting a binary star system and one of his suns has burned out.  

The sun begins to creep lower on the horizon and the city looks peaceful, battered and bruised, but even if Steve had not seen the future, he knows she will recover.  His city is strong, resilient.  

Silence settles between them for a moment and Pepper gives a tearful sigh, wipes at her eyes.  “Sorry, I’m not usually like this. Long day, I guess.”  

Steve gives her a wry quirk of his lips.  “I have some idea what you’re talking about there.”  

She slaps her hand gently against his shoulder, chuckles.  “Oh, really now?”

Steve wants to stay in this moment, wants to comfort her.  But the fate of a thousand fragmented realities lies in his hands.  

Pepper always was perceptive though and she notices the way his eyes drift to the suitcase on the floor by his feet.  “I assume the case is classified?” Her eyebrow lifts in that way she has and Steve grins.  

“Something like that.”  

She nods, collects herself for a moment and when she meets Steve’s eyes again, her gaze is sharp.  “Well, before you go off doing whatever it is you superheroes do, could I ask you a favor?”  

She looks uncertain, unsure for a moment and Steve doesn’t think about the fact they technically met ten minutes ago--he reaches out and snatches up her hand.  

The last time he will touch this woman he considered his friend, warm and safe and alive again.  

Steve breathes through the grief and wishes he had sent Tony back to this moment.  If only so he too could feel the thrumming pulse below his fingertips. Though, of course, that might be torture rather than comfort.  

“Anything at all, Pepper.”  

She looks taken aback, unsure.  Steve’s much too earnest for the practical stranger he is to her right now, but she tightens her fingers in his and her mouth sets a determined line.  

“I can’t be there to rescue him.  I can’t watch his back out there. But- but you can,” her eyes look wet at the edges, her mouth gives the barest of repressed tremors.  “Just- if you could watch out for him. Protect him from himself, if that’s what it takes.”  

Steve breathes hard, shaken with the weight of those words and he knows the challenge that lies in the promise about to fall from his mouth.  

Fingers wrapped tight between strangers.  Serious blue gaze meets green. “I won’t lie to you.  I messed up, Pepper. I hurt him, more than you can imagine.”  Vibranium arcing across reactor blue, shadowed eyes in a gaunt face whispering _liar_.  Her eyes cloud, confused but he presses on because this will be his one last chance he has to apologize for all the wrong he wrought in Tony and Pepper’s lives.

Steve can’t help but remember the grief-clouded fury in her eyes when they’d met in the hallways of the Compound in those first terrifying hours of the Snap.  

He had opened his mouth to say something, anything after those terrible three years of the Accords.  Only he hadn’t had the opportunity to. Instead, Pepper had thrust an accusatory finger in his chest, eyes narrowing in deadly threat.  

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to my husband,” she’d paused, taken in a breath labored by rage.  “I read that letter, you know? It’s almost funny that you could consider that an apology after leaving him to _die_ in Siberia.”  She had dropped her hand, moved to push past him.  “If you could ever look past your own ego for a single _fucking_ second, you could learn a lot from Tony.  Just a word of advice, Captain.”

They hadn’t spoken much after that.  Carol had rescued Tony a week later and Steve had only been able to watch as Tony and Pepper withdrew from public life.  Sequestered themselves in their cabin with their new baby girl as Tony healed from the trauma he’d witnessed on Titan.   

 Now Steve sits in the past, apologizing for a crime he has yet to commit to a woman who lacks the knowledge to forgive him.  He holds her hand, grief crashing tidal waves over him, knowing he will never have her forgiveness, not really. He does not deserve it, because if he had listened when Tony whispered _that's the endgame up there_ Tony would never have buried her.  She would be holding her daughter and husband in that cabin on the lake and Steve’s arrogance may as well have killed her. 

 _We’ll lose together, too,_ Steve had promised Tony all those years ago.  Only Tony is the one who has lost, over and over again, never Steve.    

So he meets Pepper’s uncertain gaze, counts the tempo of each numbered breath and weights his every word with promise.  

“But I can promise you this.  I will protect him. I will save him even when you can't be there for him,” he does not hide the sorrow creeping along the lines of his face.  “I will never rescue him the way you did. But he will never lay down on the wire again if I have any say in it.”

Pregnant pause and then she exhales, letting out the bated breath shared between them.  “Thank you.”

The wind whistles through glass shards, shadows bleeding into sunset rose and gold.  She gives him a shaky smile, nods toward the case. “SHIELD’s probably missing that, huh?”

Steve jerks, remembers the cosmic power he's supposed to be delivering and feels a guilty stab.

Captain America always has the next mission, the next dire responsibility.  

He wishes he could forego all that and soak in the sunset of a day long past.

Instead, he breathes, runs a hand through his hair and nods.  “Yeah. Yeah, not really a time-sensitive mission, but pretty important.”  

Pepper smiles, all understanding light and kindness as she wipes her tears, smoothes her hair.  “Well, I better let you get to it then. I don’t want Nick Fury calling me, complaining at me about not keeping his operatives in check.  I get that call about Tony twice a month already.” 

Finally, Steve steels himself and he finds the will to gather himself up and rise from the couch.  Pepper follows him, sweeping to her feet with all that genteel grace she always exuded.  

Light fragments off her strawberry hair, emerald eyes glow in the rays of the setting sun.  Steve reaches out, pulls her into his arms one last time and speaks a truth for a woman who’s simply  memory on the waves.  

“You’re a good woman, Pepper.  And I am so far from perfect despite what the war propagandists would have you believe.  But I know for a fact, I am a better man for having known you.”  

He pulls away and her expression is soft, sad at the edges if tinged a bit with confusion.  She squeezes his shoulder, gives a quiet laugh. “You say that like I’m never going to see you again, Steve.”

“Oh you’ll see me again I promise.  You’ll get sick of me, I’m sure.” Tears blur the edges of the smile he offers her.  She will see him again, over and over. But this is the last moment he will ever have with his friend.  Even if their relationship has had it’s rocky patches, coinciding with his and Tony’s own disagreements.    

They break apart and Steve reaches down to pick up the case again.  He hesitates only a moment before he can finally turn and head towards the elevator once more.    

“Goodbye, Steve.  It was lovely meeting you.”  Pepper’s smile if uncertain, unsure when he turns back and he returns it with a watery one of his own.  

“Goodbye, Pepper,” leaves his mouth, but  _It was lovely knowing you_ is what he wants to say.  He presses the button, waits for the doors to open once more.  

He steps into the waiting elevator and meets her eyes one last time.  “I’ll take care of him, Pepper. I promise.”  

Something in her gaze seems knowing as she smiles.  “I’ll hold you to that, Steve."

The doors slide shut and the waiting tears slide down his cheeks.  

And if he leaves the Mind Stone in Tony’s workshop with a note reading _This is the endgame_ it’s only one more way of keeping his promise. 

 

* * *

 

Steve’s next destination does not require his quantum tunnel system.  

It does require that he walks the six blocks from Avengers Tower to Bleeker Street, however.  He has never been inside the New York Sanctum, he’s barely so much as spoken to Strange, though the wizard doctor does seem to have a snarky camaraderie with Tony.  

Steve feels something almost akin jealousy at the thought, remembers the easy friendship between the Avengers that spanned those three short years between New York and Sokovia.  Steve had felt that again, that easy friendship bordering on family, when the Avengers had joined together to reverse Thanos’ Snap. Steve wonders if they can continue operating that way--as a team _and_ as a family, but he balks at the idea of assembling his team now.  The Avengers span galaxies these days--but the permanent absences in their ranks are glaring, painful.    

Steve takes back alleys through the city, making his way unobtrusively down the street bustling with first responders clearing rubble.  He feels as if he should stop in his path, help the firefighters and EMTs in their rescue efforts. But he knows another Captain America is also present in the city and he doesn’t want to risk another confrontation with himself, especially somewhere cell phones could capture it.  _Cap vs. Cap_  would be trending on Twitter within the hour and Steve doesn’t exactly cherish the idea of accidentally exposing a universe to _time travel_ of all things.  His time's Bruce might make a smashing exception just to murder him.  

So Steve makes his way through the streets, avoiding curious, wayward glances until he stands in front of an intimidating door, eyeing the ornate knocker uneasily.  

He grips the case tighter--only four Stones left now--and reaches for the knocker to rap against the heavy mahogany of the door.  

Only one _knock_ sounds out before orange sparks fill the edges of his vision, his feet stumbling over each other as he trips from the doorstep and onto the roof.  Nausea lurches in his stomach and for once he understands Tony’s aversion to magic.  

A woman stands before him, orange robes, dark eyes, shaved head.  Steve recognizes her as the Ancient One instantly.  Both Bruce and Strange had warned him about her, a being of unimaginable power; only he doubts he needed the warning. He would recognize the power emanating off her in waves if he was both blind and deaf.  

She exudes agelessness, mystique.  Her skin unlined, but her eyes deep with the weight of a thousand lives spanning across the millennia.  

“Steven Grant Rogers,” her voice rings out soft, tinged with power as it bleeds into the quiet.  “I had hope your Avengers would succeed, that they would return the Time Stone to its rightful protector.  I must confess I feared you had failed when you did not arrive at the agreed upon moment.”  

Steve gives an apologetic grin, shrugs a tired shoulder.  “I do apologize ma’am. Impossible to catch a cab in the city this time of day.”  

Her lip quirks ever so slightly.  “I’m sure the Megladon your Hulk left in the street had nothing to do with it?”  

Steve laughs, surprised, before training his face into mock seriousness, “Assuredly not ma’am.  The Hulk is a delicate battle partner.  Very concerned about property damage.”  

She gives him a real laugh then before going still as her eyes drift to the case.  Her gaze snaps back to meet his own, the humor drained in an instant. “You were successful in your mission then?”  

Steve nods, considers before he speaks.  “The mission was--not without its losses. But, yes.  We got them back."  He lets it sink in, the quiet victorious joy tinged at the edges with grey sorrow.  “We got them all back.”  

“I am glad to hear that, Captain.  I do not balk at the suffering of your timeline or your people.”  In the depths of the millennia reflected in her eyes, grief surfaces, empathic and wordless.  “I fear my universe with suffer similarly one day, if we are to follow the same paths. I only hope the Avengers of this world will fight as well as yours have.”  

Steve pauses, considers.  Then he sets the case down on the small table in the sorceress’ rooftop garden, the greenery almost assuredly magically enhanced with its impossibly lush foliage.  He removes the glove, presses a thumb to the lock. Blue, orange, purple, green shimmers up at him and he senses the Ancient One stiffen behind him.  

He understands.  It is the instinctual reaction of those who possess true power.  To strive towards greater and better sources of said power to solidify their own control.  

She relaxes in the next moment; Strange had called her wise in their discussions of this mission.  She would not attempt to seize the other Stones, the doctor had assured him; Strange had been correct it seemed.

Steve slides the glove on once more.  There is still that part of him that fears these strange unknown things, these Infinity Stones.  Cosmic weapons that stole two of the greatest Avengers that ever lived off this planet forever.  

  Steve reaches out, grips the Time Stone in his leather clad palm and almost staggers under the sudden strange vertigo swirling around him.  

It’s as if he can smell the burnt ration coffee in an Italian battlefield.  It’s as if he can hear the crack of a baseball connecting with a bat over tinny radio waves as he and Bucky huddle up to the neighbor lady’s radiator.  In the same moment, he can hear Tony and Clint bickering over pizza toppings and the sounds of Bruce and Natasha whispering over their morning coffee. As if every moment of his life lies just barely out of his reach, just there if only he were to reach out and grasp a moment for the taking. 

The Ancient One seems to sense his reaction, because her gaze turns sharp outside of the bubble of time that seems to have consumed him.  

“I should expect you in particular would have a sensitivity to the Time Stone, Steven Rogers.  You have experienced time in a way few humans ever will.”  

Her voice sounds faint in his ears, but he meets her gaze and steadies himself.  

He steps away from the past and towards the future, holds out the emerald stone in his fist.  He releases the Stone and instantly the sounds fade to silence in his ears, distant sirens bleeding through the city's unnatural quiet.  The Stone does not drop.  Instead, it hesitates, stills in the air.  It drifts away from Steve’s outstretched hand and towards the Eye amulet around the Ancient One’s neck.  It nestles into the Eye, gleaming brilliant a moment more before shutting itself safely away from all those that would seek to abuse its power.  

Steve does not know if he should have altered these timelines; he only knows he cannot bear the idea of his friends dying over and over again across a trillion mirror universes.  “I gave one Stone to Tony Stark. Another to Thor,” Steve casts his eyes away from her intense stare, takes a breath. “Tony knew this was coming six years before Thanos ever came to Earth.  And-,” he chokes on the admission for a moment, clears his throat, “we didn’t believe him. We called him paranoid. We called him a monster. But he was right in the end. So I’ve made sure the Avengers in your timeline know.  They will believe him and they will be prepared, the _first time around_.”  

Her gaze is wide, shocked.  “You have altered our timeline.”  

He broke the rules.  He knows that. But he cannot feel ashamed.  “You're welcome. Never let Thanos take a breath on this planet.  He dies or everyone else does, do you understand?”  

The Ancient One’s eyes turn somber, regretful.  “Thanos will come after my time. In fact, I believe he waited until his targets were most fragile to seek the Stones.  He was not willing to risk my involvement in the matter, I believe.” She stills, breathes in the air scented with smoke from fires burning out all over the city.  “But I will warn Strange of the threats to come. I do not know if you have saved us or doomed us, Captain Rogers. Only time will tell, I suppose.” She reaches out, takes his hand in her own.  “However, I should like to give you advice, from one Acolyte of time to another.”  

Steve chokes at that, blanches at the thought of his connection to the Stones in any way.  She continues, heedless of his ashen complexion.  “Do not root yourself to times long past. Do not alter realities needlessly.  You see butterflies; I see entire galaxies.” Her gaze is piercing, sharp. “Do you understand me, Steven?”  

He nods, throat dry, and wonders vaguely if an infinitely powerful ancient being has just threatened him. 

She seems to sense the  thought somehow. “I do not mean to threaten you, Steven.”  Her hand squeezes once, reassuringly, before she drops it from her fingers.  “Time and reality are kept out of the grasp of mortals for good reason. The consequences are rarely bearable as a mere man.  I assure you, down that path lies heartache.”

Steve breathes in the smoke heavier on the air now, the dusk light rapidly fading from the sky.  “Isn’t that what you did though, Ancient One? Sort of in the title isn’t it.”  

She smiles at that, her brown eyes twinkle in the first glimmers of starlight.  “How do you think I know to warn you, dear boy? You’re not the only one who has seen the future.”  Her gaze is sharp, knowing. “I warn you for your own good. That decision will be your own, Captain.”  

Steve does not know entirely what she means, but he can guess.  

It’s a thought that’s haunted him since he saw that shadow of Peggy at Camp Lehigh.  

The Ancient One gestures towards the case once more as it snaps shut, certainly through some unseen magic trick.  The case floats gently off the table and Steve snatches it up, unease at the display in his gut.  

The Ancient one smirks knowingly.  “Just something to consider. I suggest you dally here as little as possible.  The Stones have a way of attracting powers unknown.”  

He feels a shiver run through him.  He’s seen suggestions of creatures far worse than Thanos in his cursory review of Dr. Strange’s work and he dares not think of attracting them to this planet with the energy of too many Stones in one place.

Their conversation is over, the Ancient One has decided it.  

Steve plugs the date and location into the Avenger logoed QPS and gives a salute as the world fades into watercolors.  

“Thank you for your sacrifices ma’am.” 

She smiles, younger, more open.  

”Thank you for yours, Captain.” 

 

* * *

            

The light fades into the shadows of the SHIELD’s basement storage circa 1970 and Steve gives a passing thought to the insanity of leaving an Infinity Stone in little more than a lockbox.  

But this Stone will be integral to ending the Kree-Skrull war and the creation of Captain Marvel twenty years from now.  And Steve may be willing to step on butterflies, but he won’t risk the fate of one of the best damn fighters he’s ever seen.  Not to mention the Skrulls; he’s met that friend of Carol’s and he’s always seemed nice enough, constantly talking about his wife and kids. After the Chitauri and Thanos, Steve had been pleasantly surprised at how _human_ most aliens seemed.  With the exception of Groot and Rocket, he supposes.    

Steve landed close to his destination this time; easier now that the QPS has taken them here once before and he knows where he needs to land in order to hit the basement versus buried forty feet below SHIELD headquarters.  He hates to think how they would have to explain Captain America ending up buried below SHIELD thirty years after his supposed death. 

No, short and to the point is better.  This time period contains too many people from his past for him to risk wandering the halls.  In and out, that’s the way. He steadies himself, shaking off the strange vertigo of time travel and walks through the hallways, muffled footfalls and hushed breath the only sounds over the quiet hum of the flourescent lights.

He finds the safe easily enough and pulls the small metal button Bruce gave him for just this purpose out of his pocket.  He presses it to the metal of the safe, watches it drill into the smooth surface and flash once, twice, three times as the door pops open.  A sigh of relief forces its way out of his chest; perhaps he can avoid irrevocably changing this timeline with his awkward missteps after all.  Gingerly, he sets the case containing the Stones dow, presses a thumb to the lock, and takes in the last three stones, teal and tangerine and purple.  

He reaches out for the Space Stone, only the smooth metal casing doesn’t slide over this stone.  No, instead, translucent blue stone whirls out, crystallizing and folding in on itself until it forms a smooth, blue cube.

It’s not the original Tesseract.  Tony and Bruce had destroyed the original extracting the Space Stone in order to form the new Gauntlet.  No, Bruce had made this replacement in the last few days, though Steve is certain he must have consulted Tony and Rocket on its design.  According to Bruce, it should function exactly as the original Tesseract, raise no suspicions whatsoever.  

Steve certainly hopes so.  This small, blue cube had brought the original Avengers together; stopped a war; created a superhero.   The Tesseract played no small part in his own history and he would hate to rewrite timelines because their knockoff mystical objects didn’t read as genuine.  

He takes the faux-Tesseract in hand and slides it back into place in its safe as he shuts it away.  Only one Stone to go. He takes a moment to seal his briefcase containing only the Soul and Power Stones now, snatches the case into his gloved hand.  

The shortest of his trips; he’s glad, he didn’t want to run into Peggy again on accident.  He hates the idea of altering her future any more than he already has.  

His fingers dart, practiced now, over the Quantum Positioning System display as he plugs in the coordinates for his most dreaded destinations.  He steadies himself, takes a deep breath and presses the button to activate the system.  

“ _Signal lost: searching… searching..._ ”  

His eyes raises an eyebrow at the disembodied voice and he taps an incredulous finger against the glass display.  “What do you _mean_ signal lost?”  

“ _Unable to initiate jump below surface.  Likelihood of accidental burial calculated at 27.8% likelihood_.”

He lets out what Clint refers to as the _Captain America_ _sigh of disapproval_ and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Of course it is. Because of course you can _time travel_ as long as you’re not in a basement. That makes complete sense.”  

The display doesn’t reply and Steve wonders if after all this time he’s picked up that habit Tony has of talking to electronics.  He wouldn’t doubt it, he’s spent a lot of time with technology over his years as an Avenger and he’s proud to say it’s not something he particularly struggles with anymore.  He hasn’t even put his first through a computer monitor in the last six months. A personal record. He supposes that may have something to do with being in Tony’s orbit again--it’s harder to abuse electronics when your teammate may have made them sentient on a whim.  

“Well, _shit_ .”  He supposes he’ll have to make his way out the normal way, even if it means making his way past the good men and women of SHIELD and the U.S. Army.    He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, imagines Clint and Tony’s mocking chorus of _language_.  He can manage to make it to the ground level, but he’s certain they left the base on high alert since the last time they were here and it’s technically only been thirty minutes since his and Tony’s escape.  

He’s not much for stealth, hence the costume with the star-shaped target over his heart, but he had gotten better while he was on the run with the Rogues.  He can manage in a pinch and he resigns himself to sneaking out of Camp Lehigh as the most famous face to ever pass through the damn place. Once again.  

Tony had put together a map for him at least, not that Steve had seen him in the limbo between the battle and the funeral.  No, War Machine had passed it on at their briefing, Tony glaringly absent, Rhodes’ face drawn, tired and sad. Steve hadn’t had the heart to ask after Tony, how his former friend was faring.  Instead, he had listened to the eternal loop of his eidetic memory whispering _you weren’t there_ in Tony's voice.  

He shakes the thought out of his head.  There will be time for guilt later, after he’s returned the Soul and Power Stones to their rightful home.  

Purposefully, he marches towards the stairwell, makes his way up four, five, six flights of stairs in silence before they come to a sudden stop.  He slips through a door and into a narrow, artificially lit hallway. A scan of the hallways reveal there’s no security immediately apparent and, luckily, it’s still too early for widespread video surveillance.   So he advances through the halls, until the device on his wrist finally lets out a muted ding. _Signal found: calculating route_.

A sigh of relief forces its way out of his chest, he won’t have to make his way past the main compound after all.   He allows another furtive glance to ensure he’s alone and tucks himself into an alcove around the corner. Steeling himself, he reaches out a hand to activate the device, readying for the dizzying vertigo of bleeding colors--and stumbles when a tiny weight moving at high speeds collides with his knees and a soft _thud_ reaches his ears.  

Instinct has him reaching for his shield at the same time he glances down at his miniscule attacker only to meet wide brown eyes set in the pale face of a little girl, only five or so.

His hand falls away from where it’s been reaching for his shield and he blinks down at the little girl, incongruous in her little pink shirt and trousers amongst her military surroundings.  “Well, hello there,” he’s falling into a crouch, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. “Are you alright?”     

She narrows a suspicious eye at his proffered  hand. “You look like a superhero,” she squeaks up at him from where she’s sprawled on the floor.  “Superheroes aren’t real.” Which does not answer his question, but he’ll assume she’s okay if she’s sassing the only adult in the vicinity.  

A startled chuckle forces its way out of him, regardless.  “Is that so?”  

She nods and crosses her arms over her chest.  “Except Cappin America and he’s in the ocean. My mummy said so.”  

Steve can appreciate the irony of that statement as it is essentially true and false at the same time.  He _is_ in the ocean at this moment, but the kid doesn’t need to hear his musings on time travel.  He offers the hand again and she gives him another doubtful glare, finally accepting his help in getting to her feet.  

“You must be very brave.  Most kids I know would be crying over a tumble like that.  What’s your name, sweetheart?” He glances over her, searching for bumps and bruises, but she shakes her head and bats his hand away.  

“My name’s Maggie and I don’t cry!  I’m not a baby, I’m big and strong,” she declares as she puts her hands on her hips in a classic hero pose.  “Cause girls can be big and strong and brave, better than any boy even. That’s what mummy says at least.”  

Steve smiles down at her, “She’s right about that.  Some of my favorite heroes are brave girls just like you.  Is your mom around here somewhere? Does she work here?” He’s peeking around the corners, searching for one of her parents.  She can’t have possibly gotten on a top secret military base by herself.  

She nods and gives him a prideful grin, one of her front teeth missing.  “Yeah, she’s the boss! I’m gonna be the boss of a bunch a people someday too!”  

Steve freezes.  “And what’s your mom’s name, Maggie?”  

He knows the answer before she speaks, brown eyes, auburn curls, infinite measures of sass.  “Peggy Carter. But I just call her mummy.” She gives him a wide smile. “She lets me and Steve play down her when Daddy and her have to work.”  

Steve freezes up in an instant.  

Some far away part of his brain has always distantly known about Peggy’s life after him.  He had read the files about her husband, her kids. Now, he looks down at tiny Margaret Carter Jr. and he realizes with a sickening roil of guilt to his stomach that he never had any claim on Peggy’s life.  

Undoubtedly, Steve loved her, _loves_ her still.  But their love was young and undeveloped, rooted in a time they can never return to.  

Steve knows he has the choice.  He could step back in time, back into Peggy’s life and they would have the life together he’s always dreamed of.  A little suburban house, kids’ feet pattering against the floor as he kissed her in the kitchen. But in order to make that life, he erases other possibilities, other lives.  And he knows, looking down at this little girl who will no doubt be as great as her mother, that he has no right.  

If Steve steps back and creates a new timeline this little girl will never exist for Peggy.  He thinks of Tony’s stubborn insistence at leaving their own timeline unchanged, in order to ensure Morgan still existed.  Peggy would have had the same line of thought; to preserve the timeline and protect her legacy, her children. Yes, their love had been good and right and pure, but it had been in its infancy.  Who’s to say if they would have been right for each other, in the end. If weeks or months or years down the line their love had sputtered out and they had been left tied to each other on a whim Steve decided to pursue seventy years too late.  Steve knows the love Peggy must feel for this little girl and it will always trump the ancient bud of their young love never allowed to fully blossom.  

“Mister, are you alright?”  Maggie’s tugging on his sleeve and he snaps out of his reverie.  “I can go get my mum if you need some help.” Her voice is pitched high, worry at the edges.  

He shakes himself, lets his lips form a tremulous smile.  “I’m just fine, Maggie.”

Doubt’s creeped back into her expression as she gives him a tight-lipped frown.  “Are you sure? Mummy’s really good at solving problems, she could help.”  

God, under all that sass, there’s Peggy’s kindness, her empathy.  Steve almost wiped this girl out of Peggy’s life and for perhaps the first time he feels immeasurably selfish.  Greedy for believing he held some greater claim on her life than her husband, her _family_.  

“I’m sure she could help, Maggie.  But I think it’s time I solved my own problems.”  He ruffles her hair as she crinkles her nose at him.  He laughs and the sorrow drains out of him in a great heave.  

He will never have Peggy.  But she will have a wonderful, beautiful, _full_ life without him.  And that’s okay. Perhaps it’s time he considered building a real life for himself instead of the fantasy that’s lived in his head since he was a kid in the Army.    

“If you say so, mister,” Maggie’s saying, still giving him that doubtful frown.  

“Maggie!  Steve! What have I told you about running around in the basement?”  Steve would recognize that voice anywhere, that lilting, posh accent.  His blood runs cold and he has no right to interfere in her life. And that’s what his presence would be--interference in the natural course of things.  

Maggie’s face brightens at her mother’s voice and Steve rises to his feet, still concealed in his little alcove.  “That’s mummy! You should meet her, she likes superheroes.”  

Steve gives her his most reassuring smile, “Why don’t you run on ahead and you can introduce us?  I’ll be right behind you.”  

Maggie agrees easily, tearing around the corner to bolt towards her mom.  

“Mummy!  Mummy, I made a new friend and he’s a superhero!”

Steve hears Peggy laugh, come to a stop in the hallway, “Oh really now?  And where is this mysterious super hero, little miss?”  

He has grieved Peggy twice in this life.  First, when gripped her picture in his fist, icy water rushing into his lungs.  Second, when he buried her, the scent of roses in his throat and grief thick in his veins.  

He presses his fingers to the Quantum Positioning System and he mourns her one last time.  Fate has decided against them; they were never meant to be. But she had a good life, full of love and family.  Now it’s Steve’s turn.

“Goodbye, Peggy.  Live a good life.”

The words whip away on the wind as the world dissolves into color. 

  

* * *

 

Steve steps onto a foreign world cold and dead for millennia.

The Power Stone had gone back without a hitch, he’d only had to sidestep Quill’s unconscious body and place the Stone back in its containment field.

He has saved this place for last.         

 _Vormir_ Clint had called it, eyes distant and aching.  An altar to all the dead, lost souls of this universe.  

He starts to climb, feet kicking over sharp stone and alien ash.

He hates this place.  

Every breath feels thin, the barest atoms of oxygen clinging to the dead planet’s atmosphere.  Light flashes over the horizon unnaturally, the gleam blinding without the benefit of atmospheric gases to refract the light.  

It may be hours before he reaches the base of the mountain.  

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Clint had whispered, eyes dark and haunted.  “It’s the only thing for miles. It--it draws you towards it.”

He breathes deep and tries to forget Natasha’s terrible, cold descent in this place so far away from her home.  So far away from her family as she smiled up at Clint and pushed herself off the rocks.  

Stars glint above him, incongruous with the dying rays of twin foreign suns sparking over jagged rock.  

Steve breathes and breathes and breathes.  Trudges up the worn, steep path as he hushes the quiet, tactical voice that wants to calculate the height as he climbs each unwilling foot.  It's height he's better off not knowing.    

He has come to this place to return the Stone.  All the Avengers had debated the benefit of that decision, especially Peter Quill and Clint.  They had hated the idea that someone else may be an unwilling pawn in the game of the Stones.  But they had promised the Ancient One they would return each Stone and eventually even Clint had softly voiced his assent to the Soul Stone’s safe return at their delayed debriefing.  

So Steve scrabbles over the stone until he reaches his destination. 

The air is thin with oxygen, thick with ash and dust.  He tries dutifully to not think about the civilization that left it’s marks on this place.  It’s only thousand-year-old ash in his lungs now. 

There is no keeper of the Stone here; not anymore.  He, _it_ , must have been freed by Clint’s sacrifice.  Natasha’s sacrifice.  

The winds whips cold through his hair and he runs a gloved hand through it, shivering in his leather suit as he grips the case carrying the Stones tighter in his grip.  

He hates knowing she died cold.  He hates knowing she died in this place.  He should have gone here instead. This particular assignment seemed the most low risk, he had thought she would be safe.  

 _Wrong yet again,_   _Steve_ , he thinks.  

He picks his way over crumbled ruins, crossing through the remains of an ancient courtyard.  Back when he was just a kid reading about adventures in comic books the idea of exploring an ancient alien civilization would have been thrilling.  Now, he’s tired. Tired of everything these adventures, these missions have stolen from him.  

Just past the courtyard there is a long flat expanse carved into the mountain, the stone carved in elaborate, lost hieroglyphs.  Steve freezes as he passes through the failing archway.  

The cliff.  

He loses his breath for a moment and he reaches out to steady himself, to keep himself from falling to pieces.  They’d barely had a moment to breathe after Natasha’s loss before Thanos had attacked. Now the full weight of loss crashes down on him and he barely knows how to process the grief.  One of his best friends, snuffed out by a madman’s disturbed equation of the universe.

He doesn’t know how long the wind howls around him, how long he tries to absorb the lacking oxygen from the air.  Finally, something in him settles and the tremors ease. The sooner he completes this portion of the mission the sooner he goes home.  

He eases himself up and takes an unsteady step towards the edge.  One, two, one, two until he stands at the precipice. He steels himself before he peeks over the edge.  

But there is no body.  No blood on the stone.   No sign of Natasha’s sacrifice here.  No, her sacrifice’s monument is the trillions of lives restored through one last selfless act.

That's enough.

He sets the case on the Stone next to him, pulls off a glove to press a thumb to the pad.  The final Stone shimmers, orange sunset nestled in black velvet because if Tony didn’t let his sense of ironic grandeur bleed into their mission parameters than something was wrong.  

He stands at the edge of the bleak cliff and swallows, dons his glove once more.  This Stone is different than the others. It doesn’t run the risk of burning the life out its user in bare seconds.  

No metal shell forms around this Stone when he reaches out, grips it in his fist.  Warmth blooms through him, dry desert heat that lights up his veins. Bright, comforting warmth not the unbearable heat that burned Pepper.    

There is no keeper for this Stone, not anymore.  There was no instruction for this eventuality. So he stands from his crouch, takes in the cold stone valley beneath him.  Toes the rubble of a distant civilization off the edge as it drops and drops, no sound coming up when they strike the stone, even with Steve’s advanced hearing.

Steve does not fear heights, but his stomach drops, as the saliva dries up in his throat and he swallows dry.  

“I wish I’d never sent you here, Nat.”  Tears form on his cheeks and he reaches out his fist, dangles the Stone from the precipice.  “Thank you for saving us.”  

He splays out his fingers and the Stone plummets towards the valley below, shimmering sunset as the world dusky grays suddenly dissolve into orange light bathing a familiar place.  

His heart stops; Clint had warned him of this, when Steve left to return the Stone. The archer had described this strange secondary world, only for Clint it had been some younger version of Vormir,  glimmering with the light of a thousand suns reflected in endless pools stretching toward the horizon.  

This place is familiar, not an alien world.  

It’s the living room of the Avengers Compound, not often used in the last five years with more than half of the Avengers missing.  

No, only Natasha had stayed, only Natasha had lived and breathed as an Avenger during these last five years.  When the Avengers rested, it was Nat who bore the weight of the world in their stead.  

Steve’s heart stops in his chest as he scans the strange orange bathed world outside the walls of windows in the Compound.  Only his attention falters and he finds he only has eyes for one thing in his line of vision.  As if the strange alien world outside could ever capture his interest when a shadowed silhouette with a halo of scarlet sits watching the view outside. 

He breathes through the shock and whispers, “Natasha.”  

The figure stills, turns and her face comes into focus the light illuminating the small, curl of her lips.  “Needed to borrow the washing machine that bad, Steve?”  

The laugh gets stuck in his throat and then his feet are carrying him across the floor as she rises to meet him.  

They crash together and he pulls her in, certain his arms are a vice as he crushes her to his chest.  “Natasha.”  He breathes her name as he catches oxygen in his lungs once more. His knees give out all at once, he crashes to ground and the marble feels real as his knees connect with cold stone.  Tears are rolling down his cheeks once more, and he’s unsure when they began or if they ever stopped.  

Delicate hands reach out, grasp his chin with that assured manner she always had.  Sobs form in his lungs, threaten to burst out of him, shattering his ribs with their force.  Only she reaches out and steadies him with a single touch and he feels the grief collapse in on itself, dense as the black holes Tony used to muse about.  

“Look at me, Steve.”  

That’s her voice alright, no tears in spilling over into her throat.  He acquiesces, meets her gaze and there’s that quirk of her lips. That quiet humor and kindness that shone in her if only you caught the light just right.  Like knowing the angle to tilt a looking glass to create rainbows from summer sunshine.  

She breathes, reaches up a hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.  “I’m okay, Steve. I’m home.”  

A sound escapes him, disbelief and grief, twisting up, bleeding into each other.  “You should be home with your family, Nat. You should be home with the Avengers.”  Tears threaten to spill over, his chest heaves and he wishes the Stone keeper had remained.  He wishes he could have bargained to take her home away from this strange alien world.  

Natasha smiles, shakes her head softly.  She seems to know exactly what he's thinking and he doesn't know if that's to do with this place or who she's always been.  “What would you trade, Steve? Your own soul?  You know I wouldn’t want that,” the smile creeps up around her eyes, crinkling the delicate skin framing her soft brown eyes.  “You know I still don’t want that.”  

He reaches up, grips the hand on his cheek.  “How are we supposed to be the Avengers without you?  I don’t think any of us ever believed in us more than you did.”  

Natasha twists her fingers up in his, lifts them to her mouth as she presses the softest of kisses agaisnt his wrist.  “You'll manage, I know you will.  I wouldn't have left you behind if I didn't.  Besides, I owed a sacrifice to the world. Lotta red in my ledger, you know that Rogers.”  

Steve shakes his head, dismisses her humility.  “That's not true and you know it.  You know we did it right, Nat?  We won, we brought everyone back because of what _you_ did.  You owe this universe nothing.  You have repaid any debt trillions and trillions of times over, Nat.  The very atoms of the universe should thank you.”  

Natasha rocks their conjoined hands between them, gives a flash of white teeth as her smile breaks across her face.  “You would have done the same, Steve. You know you would have. That’s what Avengers do. We avenge the innocent, no matter the cost.”  

“The cost was too high,” his voice breaks on that and he feels treacherous at the thought of selfishly guarding the life of his friend over the lives of countless trillions.  But the sentiment rings true regardless. “I should have gone, Natasha. You deserved to enjoy your life.”  

She blinks at that, shakes her head.  “I did enjoy my life, Steve. It was hard, harder than most lives,” she pauses, draws in a breath and her gaze drifts to the endless water out the window.  She turns back, her eyes wide, earnest. No secrets to guard here, not as she did in her life. “But- those hard things, those awful things that happened in the shadows?  Well it made me an Avenger. It made me a hero. It made me strong.” She drops her gaze a bit, watches the orange sunlight dance across the marble of the floors. “It made me someone who could break and break, only to heal stronger.  To heal better, so I could shield others from the stones that broke me in the first place.” Natasha meets his gaze directly, cups his cheek in her free hand. “I don’t regret coming to Vormir. I don’t regret saving my best friend’s life, so he could be there to raise his children.”  She holds his hand tighter, leans forward so they share air between them. “I’m okay, Steve,” she gestures to the Compound around them, “Like I said, I’m home.”  

Finally, the setting sinks in for him and he feels a stab of guilt at the thought of the ruins of the Avengers Compound.  He takes in the light dancing of glass and stone. The understated beauty of the home Tony had built to house all Avengers, now and long into the future.  Only rubble now. “This place is gone now, back on Earth.” He meets her eye, shakes his head. “Sorry, you didn’t need to know that.”  

She laughs, “It’s okay, Steve.  I know what happened,” she smiles, her eyes twinkle mischievously.  “Tell Tony to put that Tower he's been secretly hoarding to use.  He’ll be needing it for those baby Avengers he’ll be toting around.”  

Steve chuckles, “I don’t know about baby Avengers, Nat.”  

She raises an eyebrow, “Have you ever met that Peter kid?  Stark loves his baby superheroes and you know it. Besides, if Morgan’s not making fully battle capable armors by thirteen I will eat my own foot.”  They laugh together for a moment and then she clears her throat, her eyes taking on a more serious note. “There are more kids like Peter, you know that right?  Stark was keeping tabs on anyone flagged as a super by SHIELD. More that even the government hadn’t noticed yet.” She shrugs then, curls bobbing on her shoulders.  “He fell out of the practice after Titan, trying to put the Snap out of his head. But I- I kept track of them all. Found some new ones, just to keep an eye on them.” 

Steve’s fairly certainly he’s gaping.  

She never ceased to surprise him.  She never ceases to surprise them.  

He chokes a bit on the words.  “I never knew that, Nat.” He never knew Natasha had cared quite so much, or Tony for that matter.  It had never even occurred to Steve to keep an eye on the kid superheroes honestly. After Thanos, he’d wrapped himself up in his grief and ruminated in it, shutting out anything that could possibly remind him of his absolute failure on the battlefields of Wakanda.  

Instead, Nat had sought out to find a new generation of heroes, when even Tony had laid the idea of the Avengers to rest.  “We didn’t know you’d been monitoring any enhanceds. We haven’t recovered the files from the Compound, yet. Stark- Tony is,” he pauses, doesn’t want to voice this terrible news to Natasha just yet.

She interrupts before he can stumble over his words any further, “It’s okay, Steve.  I told you I know what happened.”  

He looks up at her and grief does not cloud her eyes, though the amber there is tinged with sorrow.  He asks the question that occurred to him the first moment he fell into this place. “Is Pepper here with you?  Is- did she come home too?” Steve’s voice breaks, cracks as it travels up his throat. “Please tell me she came home too, Nat?”  

His cheeks stain saltwater again, her gentle fingers once again dancing over the hot tears rolling _drip, drip_ down his nose.  He lifts red eyes to meet her clear-eyed stare.  “She has her own home, Steve. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t visit, but she was always happier in that cabin on the lake than in a building dedicated to the people who constantly put her husband in danger.”  She smiles wryly up at him and he feels relief bathe his chest, much like the golden warmth of the Soul Stone gripped in his palm.  

Pepper is here in this strange world.  In her cabin on the lake, the shores reflecting foreign suns and he wonders distantly if the wreath Tony and Morgan surrendered to the waves reached the shores here.  If waves lap up to meet violets and lilies and golden hydrangeas shielding her little home from the water.  

“Neither of you deserved this,” he whispers.  “None of us deserved this.”  

She smiles but the bitterness from Earth is gone, seeped out of her skin as if it had never existed.  “No. No we didn’t. But- this place is,” she breathes in, considers, finds the word she’s looking for. “Peace.  This place is peace. No more fear. No more pain.” She shrugs. “Maybe this was a reward. In some way. All I know is, for the first time since I took a breath on the Earth, I don’t have to fight anymore.” 

Steve feels the sorrow settle and resolve in his chest and he smiles at her, truly grateful for the first time.  

“It’s good to know there’s a heaven of some sort.  Waiting for us, after all the suffering.”

“I’ll be here waiting for you, Steve.  Waiting for all of you, just like Pepper,” she grins, a true smile lighting her up like the fire of the alien quartet of suns gleaming on the horizon.  “But fair warning, I’ll kick your ass if you get here too quick.”  

The laugh startles it’s way of Steve’s chest, he almost chokes on it.  “Deal. I’ll try to keep my dumb ass alive, then.” Natasha laughs with him, raspy around the edges.  

“I mean it though.  Stark’s gonna need you.  Those kids will too. Hell, those grown ass men running around in capes need you, Steve.”  Nat gives him that serious, intimidating stare of hers, that still makes hime want to check her for concealed weaponry.  “My only regret is that I left the Avengers in the hands of all you jerkwads,” she lightens the jab with a smirk, but he still feels a stab of guilt.  How many times, after all, had he abandoned the Avengers for his own personal, selfish interests? She clears her throat, continues. “So if you wanna promise me one thing?  Don’t abandon those superhero kids. Don’t abandon the Avengers. And don’t you fucking dare abandon Tony again.”  

Natasha’s voice takes a hard edge.  “We all did it to him once already. And Tony- he’s going to be lost without Pepper.”  She reaches out a hand to grip his shoulder. “He’ll have Happy and Rhodes, of course. Morgan and Peter, too.  But he’s going to need a friend, Steve. And no one understands grief better than you do.”   

He stiffens, he always does at the mention of his lost world, his lost friends.  But Natasha’s right, his world has warped around the lense of grief.  

“Save the Avengers, Steve,” the hand slides down his arm and then both hands are gripped tight in his own.  “If I had to be known for one thing it would be the Avengers,” her smile lights up her face, soft, sweet. “You were my family, the only family I ever knew.  You all saved me,” she tightens her fingers in his. “So keep our family together, Steve. Prevent this from ever happening again. Train the new generations to keep them safe.  Train them so we never have to watch another Thanos shatter worlds for his own devices.”  

The guilt rises up and he nods furiously.  “I promise, Nat. The Avengers will live on, I promise you.”  

She releases his hands, pulls him tight to her chest.  

“I’ll miss you, Steve.”  

Light shines around them as if they breathe in the starlight itself.  

“I will never forget you, Natasha Romanova.  The very strongest Avenger.”  

They hold each other tight, kneeling on the Stone as the warmth washes over them.  

The orange light begins to fade away and he clings tighter.  “No. Not yet. I- I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”  

She tightens her embrace in kind, her breath warm on his neck and she feels so solid, so real in this place.  “Live a good life, Steve. Live your very best life and by the time we see each other again it will feel like only a moment has passed between this breath and the next.”  

He breathes in her scent for the final time, the warmth fading faster and faster as he shuts his eyes tight.  He pulls away, enough to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Nat.”  

He feels the vibration of her chuckle in his arms, but when he opens his eyes again the world has shifted into dusty, cold grey once more.  

Underneath him he sees the distant drop to the valley floor below, the dying suns in the distance faded echoes of their counterparts in the Soul Stone.  

The Stone has disappeared, no orange light sparking against the rocks below.  

Steve wonders if perhaps he hallucinated Nat, bathed in light, a warm, breathing silhouette in their home’s window.  

But he can still smell her on his clothes- vanilla and cinnamon and gunpowder.  He still feels her warmth on his skin as the dead atmosphere’s winds whip through the protections of his climate controlled suit.  

He turns his attention to the case once more.  All Stones returned to their proper place-his final mission as an Avenger complete.  His very last mission.  He feels dizzyingly lost, unmoored at the thought.  As if he's lost his purpose entirely.     

Only, he has a far greater purpose in his life, one that he has neglected for far too long.  Steve had written off the idea of family and a normal life when he came out of the ice.  But, in doing so, he had ignored the family he already had.  

Yes, Steve had lost friends in the forties.  He loves the Commandoes and Peggy still, but he would lying if he claimed anyone other than the Avengers as his true family.  

The last decade of Steve's life has been spent fighting grief, yes.  But did that discount those late nights with Sam watching baseball in motels on the run?  Did it discount that joy that surged in his heart when he pulled Bucky out of the shell of the Winter Soldier and into this new future with him?  

In truth, he has spent more than a third of his life in the future.  And for all the betrayals he has brought down upon the Avengers--they have remained his family.  It has taken years for him to learn their value in  

Steve loved the Commandoes, he loved Peggy.  But he loves new places, new people as well.  And neither of those loves cheapen the other.  Choosing the future does not mean he loves the people from his past any less.  Instead, he has finally and truly learned how to move forward.  He thinks that would Peggy proud; he knows it would.      

The cold air seeps into his lungs and he breathes plumes of mist, “I promise you, Natasha.  There will always be the Avengers to protect the innocent.”   

The suns almost seem to shine brighter for a moment and Steve lifts his wrist as he punches in the date and location of his next jump.

“I promise,” he voices it once, as much a prayer on his lips as any rosary.  Vormir dissolves into the impossible fragmented colors of reality slipping and sliding all around him.

He closes his eyes against the blinding array.

 

* * *

  

“-Ten.”  

Bruce’s voice against a backdrop of cicadas greets him as he steps back into the future.  

He opens his eyes to the bright glare of his own sun and his eyes fall to Bucky who stares wide-eyed at him on the platform.  

Bruce speaks up first, voice mildly thrilled with Steve’s apparent success on the mission.  “On thank god that worked. Ever since Scott, I’m always mildly worried about turning people back into an infant.  Or you know, an embryo.” Bruce is fiddling with instruments once again and Steve steps down from the platform, crosses the grass to where Sam and Bucky stand.  

Bucky’s still quiet these days, but he speaks first.  “Huh. Thought you’d ditch us for the forties and go get that dance with Peggy.”  

Steve stills, wonders how transparent his every whim must be written across his face.  Sam looks offended at Bucky’s suggestion though, so perhaps only Bucky realizes those kinds of things about him.  How weak he is to temptation at times.  

Steve shrugs, smiles crooked at his friend of a century.  “I might’ve thought about it. But I made a promise to a friend that I’d watch over all you dumb kids.”  

Bucky snorts, runs a hand through his hair, “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, old-timer though you are.  I’ve been awake for more of it at least.”  

Steve feels the pierce of guilt once more and for a moment he can’t believe he considered leaving Bucky alone in this strange new world.  

Steve reaches up, squeezes Bucky’s shoulder.  “Well, hate to break it to you pal, but I’m with you til’ the end of the line.” 

Buck rolls his eyes, bites a smile down even as it twinkles in his eyes.  “Whatever, Steve. You sap.”  

Sam rolls his eyes at the both of them, “Well, not to break up this epic bromance, but I’m glad you’re okay, Cap.  None of us want to live in a world without Captain America.”  

 _It’s time to stop being selfish, Steve_ , he thinks.  “Actually, I had some thoughts about that.”  

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him, but Bucky just lets that smug grin twist his lips, ever so slightly.  Steve pulls the shield from his easel case, holds it out to Sam. “I think it’s time we had a new Captain America.  A _better_ one, I hope.”  

Sam stares down at the shield, his gaze wide and shocked.  “I- I can’t, Cap. How am _I_ supposed to be Captain America?  Let alone _better_ than you?”  His hands come up defensively as Sam begins to back away.  

Steve grabs his wrist before he can get too far, gives him the best reassuring smile he knows.  “You’re already a hero, Sam. One of the best. This shield, it’s just a title,” Sam’s still staring down at the shield, awestruck and humbled.  “But it matters to people, that title. And the world will always need Captain America."  He takes a breath, summons the most honest answer he can.  "But I’m not so sure it's a title I want to bear anymore. I think maybe it’s time I stopped fighting and time I started living.”  

The hush of leaves fills the air, punctuated by piercing birdsong.  

“Take it, Sam.  You deserve it.”  Bucky’s offering Sam a rare ghost of a smile, something open in his face for the first time in a long time.  “This punk deserves a break, don’t you think.”  

Sam just shakes his head, ever so slightly, but his hand reaches out, brushes against the edge of the shield, reverent and shaking.  “What if I can’t do it, Steve? What if I mess up?” 

Steve closes the gap for him--he reaches out and closes Sam’s fingers around the shield.  “You will. We all mess up sometimes, Sam, me especially. Learning to fix and deal with your mistakes is the mark of a truly great hero.  And, trust me, you’ll be the very best.”  

Slowly, Sam takes the shield, slides it onto his wrist and when he meets Steve’s gaze again his eyes are wet.  “I won’t let you down, Cap.”  

“You have all my faith, Avenger.  You’ll do great.” He glances over to Bucky, quiet and smiling at the exchange.  “Keep an eye on this guy though. He’ll get you into trouble.”  

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, right.  My job description is keeping _Captain America’s_ ass out of trouble.”  

“Well, don’t stop now.  I’m sure Sam could use the help.”  For all the bickering Steve’s witnessed between the two, they now exchange a pleased grin.  “Captain America’s always got to have his Bucky, you know.”  

“What about you?  What does Captain America’s retirement look like?”  Sam still has a dazed look in his eye, but he tears his awestricken gaze from the shield finally to meet Steve’s eyes.  

Steve smiles, chagrined, runs a hand through his hair.  “I think maybe it’s time I bring the Avengers back together instead of tearing them apart.  It’s time I was there for my family.”  

Sam and Bucky share a look, something sad in their exchanged gaze.  

Sam speaks up first, clearing his throat.  “You tell Tony anything he needs, anytime. I’m here.” 

Bucky nods in agreement.  “Me, too.  Not that he would want my help.”  

Steve smiles, shakes his head.  “You’d be surprised. Tony can be very… forgiving.”  

Bucky raises a doubtful eyebrow.  “Maybe. I think I’ll stay out of the way, for now, at least.  Don’t want to compound the problem, you know.”

Steve nods his agreement--it will be best to leave the Accords out of things until Tony is on more stable footing.

They stand there together for a moment, the sounds of Bruce packing away the equipment the only sound over the relative quiet of the forest.  

“Well I guess I better help Hulk-Bruce over there pack up the equipment,” Sam says finally, jabbing a thumb in Bruce’s direction where he’s struggling to fold up the console for the portable quantum tunnel.  “That’s what Captain America would do.” Unsurprisingly, Sam’s joke comes out uncertain, stilted; it’s difficult deciding what Captain America should do. Steve has had that dilemma too many times to count. And, shockingly often, Steve has chosen wrong.  

Instead of worrying over Captain America's mistakes, Steve shrugs, grips Sam's shoulder in a symbol of friendly camraderie.  “You decide what Captain America does now, Sam. “  

Sam seems to freeze up at that comment once more.  “That’s gonna take some to get used to, ya’ know. _Captain America_.”  

“I know how you feel, buddy.  Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.  I know you will.” The sun is beginning to truly set, light bleeding into dusky shadow. 

They stand in awkward silence for a few more moments, until Bucky speaks up.  “Well Sam and I are gonna head over to SHIELD. Fury and Hill asked us to help out until they recovered their full complement of officers.  Do you wanna tag along?” 

Steve’s shaking his head before he can really even consider the question; black ops has never been a particular interest of his, even before the HYDRA fiasco.  “You guys go on ahead. I think maybe the start of my retirement should be--you know-- _not_ working.”  

Bucky snickers at that--of course, he does; he had witnessed Steve working for the war effort's scrap metal processing before he'd successfully enlisted.  Steve hasn’t _stopped_ working in any meaningful way since he was fifteen years old.  

Bucky and Sam seem to steel themselves before they each, in turn, wrap him up in a hug.  

“Let us know if you get tired of Bingo and golf  courses, old man,” Bucky whispers in his ear before releasing him.  “Sam and I will show you some real fun, okay?”

Steve’s nodding, agreeing, and all too suddenly Sam and Bucky are retreating to a truck on the dirt pathway, leaving him behind for their newly revamped careers as superheroes.  

That part of Steve’s life is over.  He’s fought enough, he’s _given_ enough; now it’s his turn to rest.  

Unsurprisingly, Bruce insists on packing all the equipment himself.  “Tony will kill me if I let anyone take it. _Anyone_ , Steve.  Yourself included.” 

Instead, Steve’s left in the quickly darkening shadows as he watches golden light bleed into rosy dusk.  He's shaken from his reverie by Bruce's approach

“You want a ride back to the city, Steve,” Bruce asks, worry crinkling his brow.  Bruce knows him well after eleven years, knows when Steve has a thought nagging at him.  

Steve shakes his head, “No, thanks though.  I’ve got some unfinished business here.”  

Finally, he is alone in the dusky starlight, indigo sky and opalescent stars above him.  

He walks, his own form of contrition, as he makes his way to his final destination.  His first act as his own man in a long time. Not as Captain America; not as an agent of the United States Army or SHIELD.  For once, he is acting only as Steve Rogers.  

Sometimes he fears he’s lost himself.  War changes people, he knew that from the veterans who grew up on his street, men who came home staring wide and screaming in the night.  And what has his life been but infinite war, looping back to haunt him. Of course he’s changed.  But he never wanted to lose everything that made him  _Steve_.    

So Steve thinks of what he would have done before all those battles tore him up inside; he thinks of what he would have done before all he knew how to do was fight.  He likes to think he would have been there for his friend at the hardest time of his life. That’s the man he wants to be anyway.  

He barely notices when he reaches a fine oak door, barely worn after five years.  

He pauses on the porch, suddenly unsure.  He breathes in honey summer oxygen; he can smell bluebells and lilacs on the dewy starlit breeze rolling off the lake in waves.  In each breath, Steve can smell life blooming up around him and he understands the kind of comfort this place must be to Tony. After slowly dying amongst the stars, again and again, this quiet place so very rooted in the Earth must be vastly comforting in ways Steve can hardly grasp.  

Before he can talk himself out of it, he raises his hand to knock.    

 _One, two, three_ raps on the door with no answer and he holds himself on the threshold for interminable minutes until he begins to doubt himself.  If Tony wants to see anyone right now, it’s certainly not Steve. Rhodes is probably there for him, or Happy. Only--Steve _knows_ Tony, or at least he used to.  When Tony’s hurt he curls in on himself, pushes people away like he has to protect his injuries from the people who only want to help him.  

He’s probably alone--and Steve isn’t so sure he should be.  

But Steve lost the right to interfere, to impose when he splintered the Avengers.  He lost that right when he mocked Tony for being paranoid, when, in the end, Tony saw the worst coming years before the rest of them even imagined it.  They’ve forged a tentative friendship in the wake of Thanos. But, it’s still fragile around the edges and Steve doesn’t want to push on the cracks by forcing himself into Tony’s life.  

He turns to leave.  The door creaks open behind him and he stills, his foot still resting on the first step.  

“Hey, Steve.”  His voice is tired, but it’s still Tony’s and Steve feels some of the uncertain doubt unfurling in his chest.  After all this time, Tony’s voice is a comfort; after all, he’s one of the first people Steve had met in this century.  As strange as it may be to an onlooker, Tony may be his oldest friend on this planet excluding Bucky.    

Caught out, Steve steps back onto the porch and tries to summon a smile for his friend.  Only it doesn’t seem to come and Steve feels Tony’s echoed grief choking his lungs. Tony’s not smiling, not putting on a strong facade for the crowds of grievers and his daughter.  This is a man finally allowed to collapse into the raw breed of grief that claws its way into your lungs and steals the breath from your throat.  

Steve blinks away sudden tears because he doesn’t know how to fix this.  He doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming here; as if he had any right to be here in the wake of Tony’s grief.

He says the only thing he can.  “God, I’m so sorry, Tony.” His voice scratches it’s way out of his throat, choking on the words.  He clears his throat and meets Tony’s eyes, bloodshot, tired, and so very alone.  

Only it seems Steve said the right thing for once.  Tony finally tries to summon a ghost of a smile, nods in acknowledgement.  “Why don’t you come in? You can tell me how the mission went.” He gestures to the Steve’s quantum suit noncommittally.

Steve feels something devastated seize up in his chest.  As if Steve is here to _debrief_ him hours after his wife’s funeral.  “That’s not what I’m here for, Tony. I’m- I’m just here to make sure you’re okay.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him.  Crosses his arms over his chest the way he does when he feels vulnerable. “Do you _think_ I’m doing okay, Steve?”

Steve winces guiltily.  “I’m sorry. Of course you’re not okay.”  He scrubs his palm at the nape of his neck, clears his throat.  “That was a stupid question.”  

Tony shrugs, exhaustion telegraphed in every twitch of his shoulders.  “It’s alright. Everyone asks dumb questions when this shit happens. I’m used to it by now.”  

They stand in silence, cicadas humming white noise in the night.  “I really am sorry, Tony.” Surprise passes over Tony’s expression so fast Steve barely registers it.  Steve is weighting his words with a thousand apologies and they both know it.  

“It’s okay, Steve.  Not your fault.”  

Only it is his fault; he had _six years_ to listen to Tony, to prepare for Thanos.  Instead, he had done his best to tear the Avengers apart at the seams.  “I’m not so sure about that.”      

Tony sighs, his shoulders slumping and he pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. There’s only enough room for one of us on that boat, okay?”  

“God, Tony, it’s not your-”

Tony lifts his other hand in warning.  “Don’t. Just don’t.” Steve’s heart seizes as Tony turns back towards the door.  God, Steve has messed this up already; of course, Tony doesn’t want to see him. Only Tony turns back towards him, makes the universal gesture of _follow me_.  “You might as well come in.  I can’t have Captain America catching mosquito borne diseases on my porch.  That would be a PR disaster.”  

Steve pauses, unsure; he doesn’t want to impose, he had only been dropping by to make sure Tony was alright.  Only, Tony glances back again and Steve can see the way his chest tightens, irritated and exhausted. “Come on, Steve.  It’s been a long day.”  

Steve’s feet are carrying him through the door before he can doubt himself again.  

He crosses over the threshold and he can’t help but think it’s his first step back into Tony’s life.      

He hopes he’s finally making a step in the right direction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Let me start by apologizing for the unplanned hiatus. After a clusterf*ck of a summer, I am happy to say I will be resuming regular posting on a biweekly schedule.  
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, I always adore feedback! Please let me know if you would be interested in being a beta for this or any of my other works. It would definitely help speed the writing process up. Let me know in the comments or email me at omniscientphoenix@gmail.com.

**Author's Note:**

> As a footnote: I've chosen to not use standard archive warnings to prevent any spoilers for either the plot of this story or Endgame. Please feel free to message me if you would like an in-depth list of any possible triggering content. Any and all triggers in this story will be fairly minor, but please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any concerns.  
> Always stay safe, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy.  
> Updates weekly on Sundays.


End file.
